Afterthought
by PokeyDotes
Summary: When Kensi and Deeks find themselves in trouble, they must rely on one another until the team can come to the rescue. Language warning.
1. More Questions than Answers

**I suppose you could call this a 'thank you' piece, mostly because of all the great reviews and support "Fool Me Once" received. So, as yet another heart felt 'thank you' to everyone who stuck it out with that story, here's another one-or at least the first chapter.  
**

* * *

**a posteriori** |ˈā päˌsti(ə)rēˈôrˌē; -ˈôrˌī|: adjective;

relating to or denoting reasoning or knowledge that proceeds from observations or experiences to the deduction of probable causes.

• [ sentence adverb ] (loosely) of the nature of an afterthought or subsequent rationalization.

Adverb; in a way based on reasoning from known facts or past events rather than by making assumptions or predictions.

• (loosely) with hindsight; as an afterthought.

ORIGIN early 17th cent.: Latin, 'from what comes after.'

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Special Agent Callen is quickly beginning to associate the smell of peanut butter with death, the tacky residue of jelly with fear as sticky fingers claw at his neck, blindly reaching for reassurance and safety.

It was quiet and unexpected, almost like it always is. Walking through the front door to find Agent Conners reading the paper, patiently listening to the ramblings of his five-year-old charge, Callen had thought he was in time, had thought he made it before the other shoe dropped.

He hadn't known this shoe had already been let go, it just had further to fall.

Not three seconds after walking into the kitchen, it happened. A small pop, more from the window than the actual shot, and then the sound of Connors slumping onto the table, his coffee cup spilling beneath him blending with the blood to saturate the newsprint.

The other shoe had reached the ground.

Between the shocked silence of the little boy and the panicked screaming of his mother, Callen had let instinct and training take control, quickly grabbing the little boy and pulling him to cover, out of the line of sight.

Now, trying to silence the mother long enough to explain to her the importance of remaining in the utilities closet long enough for backup to arrive, Special Agent Callen can't help asking, "Where the hell are Kensi and Deeks?"

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

At first, she thought a rock had hit her windshield. The small and sudden pop followed by a crystallized blemish against the glass. She had thought the jerk of his shoulders had been a reaction to the assumed rock, a condition of being startled. It wasn't until she heard the quiet gasp and saw the unexpected stiffness in his posture did she realize she was wrong.

"Deeks?" She doesn't wait for an answer, just pushes the accelerator, and turns the wheel. "Deeks? Talk to me."

"Can't. Too busy trying to remember how to breathe." His teeth are clenched, muffling the sound as he pushes his head back into the headrest. His hands press against the vest, the one that was supposed to stop a bullet.

As a series of additional pops hit the side of the car, she tries to aim them away from the oncoming bullets, pointing the taillights towards the direction of the shooter as her back tires get taken out. "Get out of the car, hurry." She leans across him, pushing the door open before pushing him, ignoring his grunt of pain. "Get down."

She knows he knows what to do, it just makes her feel better saying it out loud. It gives her a semblance of control, something she knows she really doesn't have as she squats next to her bleeding partner, taking cover behind a car in the middle of the desert, nothing more than a chain of rust red ridges offering shelter, both to them and the shooter.

"How bad is it?" She asks, slamming the door shut and reaching for her phone as she moves to undo the Velcro keeping his vest in place. Kensi Blye knows how to multi-task.

"Are you gonna call me a baby if I say it hurts like a bitch?" Deeks tries to smile, wincing only once as she pulls the vest away, ripping the embedded material of his shirt out of the wound.

"Why point out the obvious?" She tries to match his smile, tries to hide her worry, but the sight of his shirt quickly staining red cuts it short. It's like watching a rose blossom in fast forward, the petals opening to reveal the life inside, and Kensi has a sudden thought of the Queen of Hearts painting the roses red.

She props the phone between her ear and shoulder, holding it in place as she listens to the rings, letting it drop to her lap when it goes to voicemail.

She looks at Deeks, that Cheshire smile trying to shine through despite their current trip down the rabbit hole. Another series of pops and then a pause. "Can you walk?" she asks, looking to the ridges.

"Is the alternative getting shot again?" There's that smile.

"Probably." Another few pops.

"Then I can run."

As Kensi helps her partner off the ground, both keeping low enough to take advantage of the sheltering car before making a run for the nearby hills, she can't help wondering why Sam isn't answering his phone.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Sam angrily tosses his phone into his passenger seat as he forcefully applies pressure to the gas pedal in an attempt to close the distance separating him and the safe house. A phone call from Eric telling him Sherrie Miller's location had been compromised was all it had taken for him to abandon the interrogation in favor of meeting his partner in order to help secure Sherrie and her son.

A second call from Callen telling him that the agent in charge of watching them had been taken out, and that the shooter was still on the premises had caused him to loose his temper, taking his frustration out on his phone.

As he nears the property, he pulls the car over and takes out his gun, raising it at the ready as he prepares to make the rest of the journey on foot so as not to alert the shooter.

He squints his eyes and lets his mouth quirk into a dimpled smile as he slowly approaches the home, the camouflaged boots of the sniper making indentations in the dirt as their owner readjusts his position in order to get a better line of sight.

"Do. Not. Move." The words are soft, but still carry the desired threat, the promise of death should they be ignored. The sniper only jumps slightly, the unexpected appearance of a gun pointed at his head catching him off guard. Sam continues to smile that dimpled smile as the sniper lets his head drop in defeat before raising his hands into the air.

As Sam handcuffs the man's hands behind his back, he looks towards the house wondering when the remaining backup will arrive.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"Sonuvabitch!" Deeks mutters breathlessly. He leans his back against the rock wall, letting it support him as he attempts to slide to the ground, the muscles in his legs failing halfway down.

"You okay?" Kensi asks, checking her gun as she kneels beside him.

"Peachy," Deeks tells her, removing his hands from his stomach to reach for his own gun, his fingers leaving bloody fingerprints along the barrel. "Be even better if there wasn't a bullet in my gut, but what can you do?" he jests, aiming for laidback indifference as he watches the edge of the ridge for any sign the shooter decided to follow them. The sound of Velcro being pulled apart forces his eyes back to his partner.

"What are doing?" he asks, watching as Kensi continues to remove her bulletproof vest. "There's a guy shooting at us and your taking _off_ your vest?"

"I'm gonna put it back on," she explains, letting the vest drop to the ground before removing her over shirt, leaving her in nothing more than a dark tank top. She promptly presses the button-up to Deeks' abdomen, applying pressure just above his navel, trying to stop the free-flowing blood.

"Press down on this," she orders, forcing herself to ignore the hiss of pain the act elicits from her partner. As he replaces her hands with his, she grabs her vest from the ground, the loose sand sticking to the smears of Deeks' blood. "I've got one bar," she tells him, looking at the smudged screen on her cell phone.

Deeks awkwardly tries to reach behind him, his goal to retrieve his phone from his back pocket. However, as the movement stretches his muscles, an embarrassing cry of pain managing to escape, he gives up the effort. "Try calling Eric, see if he can send back up."

Kensi already has the phone to her ear, her gun held tightly in her hand as half her attention is focused on the static tinged ringing and the other half listening for approaching footsteps.

Eric answers before the second ring even begins. "Kensi, where are you guys?"

Kensi is about to tell him, about to ask for back up. Her mouth is formed in a small 'o', the word "we" on the tip of her tongue. But then she hears it, the telltale sound of boots rolling across the rocks, heel to toe, heel to toe.

As the sound of gunfire filters through the speakers echoing through Ops, Eric and Nell look at one another nervously, wondering what the hell is going on.

TBC...


	2. Home Sweet Home

**Wow, that was a little more response than I expected. I feel I should point out, while this story will feature the whole team, it's mostly centered around Kensi and Deeks. **

**Realizing not everyone will be familiar with the dialect of the southern United States, the phrase "Fixing to" translates into "about to" or "getting ready to". Also, Joe Pesci is an Italian-American actor, a quick Google search should clear up any confusion as to who he is.  
**

Eric removes his glasses as he pinches the bridge of his nose. He's just replayed the audio file for the fourth time, allowing Hetty and the others to hear. There's nothing more than a few gunshots, the sound of the phone hitting the ground, a little shuffling around, and then nothing.

It's been twenty-seven minutes since the call. Twenty-four minutes since he gave up trying to call them back, both Deeks and Kensi's phones going to voicemail. As he replaces his glasses, Eric looks to Hetty, noticing that seemingly permanent stoic demeanor of hers, constantly unwavering.

"GPS is sent to Sam and Callen. They should be there soon," Nell explains from her spot across the room. "Medics are standing by, waiting for clearance."

Everyone's professional when there's an unknown, when there's a possibility that one of their own could be in trouble. Eric's seen it happen far too many times, too often it ending badly. It's a given in their line of work.

He looks at the screen displaying the map, a red dot indicating Deeks and Kensi's last graphed position. With nothing more to do than wait, Eric turns back to his own screen, hesitantly dialing Deeks' phone one more time. Just in case.

He counts the rings, just as he had before. One, Two, Three. But instead of the fourth followed Deeks' voice telling the caller to leave their message after the beep, the phone is answered.

Eric feels his heart pick up speed. He sits up in the chair, adjusting the Bluetooth in his ear. "Deeks?"

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Callen pulls his car to the side of the road, Kensi's bullet riddled SRX slumped about thirty yards off the asphalt, the back tires blown out. Sam pulls the charger up behind him, a serious frown marring his face.

Callen watches as Sam slams the door and begins marching towards him, his phone held tightly in his hand.

"Three missed calls," Sam says, holding the phone for Callen to see. "All from Kensi."

"Come on," Callen tells him, not knowing what else to say. He leads his partner towards the abandoned car, eyes peeled for any sign that they're not alone.

It's the blood that gets his attention. It's not a lot, just a little on the door handle, the inside of the abandoned Kevlar coated in a thin smear. Callen's definitely seen more, but still…

"Looks like the passenger was shot," Sam observes, studying the single bullet hole in the windshield. "Knowing Kensi, she was driving."

"Went straight through." Callen holds up Deeks' vest, the hole barely discernable amongst the black material and dust. "Had to have been a high-powered rifle."

"Like the one that took out Conners?" Sam asks, searching the horizon for possible hideouts for a sniper.

Callen nods as he looks back down the highway, getting an angle on where Kensi and Deeks were coming from. "Shooter was most likely stationed on those ridges."

Sam looks to where Callen's pointing, agreeing. "It was an ambush."

Callen sets the vest back where he found it as Sam begins to study the ground, his eyes discerning the dust for tracks leading away from the car. He begins walking towards the ridge, following the direction of the tracks.

Sam and Callen both freeze when they round the corner.

There's more blood, a lot more than what was found near the car. A puddle begins to congeal at the base of the ridge, splatter decorating the rock wall. A bloodied shirt lies abandoned several feet away.

A dulled vibration brings their attention to two phones tossed carelessly in the sand, the screen of one cracked from someone's boot. Callen lowers his gun and picks up the shattered phone.

"Deeks?" Eric asks hopefully.

"No Eric, It's me." Callen looks back around, back to the signs of struggle leading to the opposite ridge.

"Callen?" Callen can hear the disappointment in Eric's voice.

"Yeah," Callen sighs and squints his eyes as the clouds clear, the sun shining over the top of the rocks. "They're not here. Go ahead and cancel the ambulance, get a crime scene team out here."

"On it," Eric answers before hanging up.

"There are tire tracks leading back towards the highway. Looks like a large truck." Sam's kneeling out in the open, his eyes trained on the ground. "Two many foot prints to count, at least four though."

Callen walks out to meet him, more blood drops drying in the sand. "So who does the blood belong to?"

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Kensi is lying on her side, a blindfold tied tightly in place, her hands bound behind her. The floor of the bronco is rusted, the carpet having long ago been pulled up. It's warm and cold at the same time, the harsh momentum of the vehicle causing the bare skin of her arms to be rubbed raw with each movement she unwillingly makes.

Her legs are bent awkwardly, trying her best to fit in the limited space. Every so often, she can feel what she assumes to be either Deeks' arm or leg brush up against her shin.

She can hear the driver yelling, trying his best to keep his partner awake, to keep him from passing out, from dying.

Another bump, another brush of her leg, another scrape on her arm.

There are tools or something metal and heavy rolling around loosely in the floorboards somewhere on the other side of the seat. An old country tune flows through the speakers, a loose belt causes the bronco to whine each time the driver turns the wheel. The ride is anything but quiet.

Except Deeks. He hasn't said a word since the shooter turned into two, since they were ambushed from both sides, completely taken off guard, and trapped. Kensi had gotten in a lucky shot, shooting one of the men in the neck. He had dropped to his knees, blindly reaching towards his wound.

Kensi had been so focused on the man in front of her, she hadn't realized there was

another behind. The sharp and sudden pain in the back of her skull had corrected that hindsight.

She hadn't lost consciousness, but the blow had made her vision double, nearly triple, the ground kept shifting beneath her feet, and a loud ringing made it difficult to hear what was being said. Her hands were tied behind her back before she even knew what was happening.

Now, as she tries her best to keep her head from bouncing on the floor of the truck so as not to cause any more damage, she realizes this is a lot bigger than they had originally thought.

Daniel Miller is a low level thug at best, a dishonored Marine who managed to swindle about two hundred thousand dollars from the Corps in various dealings, ranging from selling supplies on the black market to disclosing classified information to foreign operatives. Essentially, he's a traitor.

He hadn't been difficult to find. The hard part came when someone went after his son and wife, forcing NCIS to put the two into protective custody until the attacker could be caught.

Daniel had sworn up and down that the attacker was most likely a Canadian by the name of Jean-Luc Ferret—a loner with no close ties outside of those necessary for business.

The two men in the front of the bronco don't support Daniel's "loner" theory, suggesting the man has no idea who's really after his family.

As they approach their destination, the driver turns the wheel, the sharp motion causing Kensi to roll onto her back, her wrists digging into the metal floor, the back of her head coming into contact with something solid, and the beginning of a serious headache.

"Tino!" the driver yells, his Boston accent thick and telling. "Get out here! The bitch shot Ricky!" Kensi listens as the passenger door is opened, as more yelling ensues when Tino approaches the truck, Ricky coming into view.

"Get 'im inside, hurry!" Being blindfolded, Kensi has no other choice but to rely on her hearing. There's a lot of grunting, the door hinges creaking, the bronco shifting as Ricky's weight is lifted from his seat. She hears as Tino and the driver's feet begin to shuffle and she can imagine how they look, awkwardly trying to carry a bleeding man between them.

She hears more people come from inside, more yelling and more accents, all from somewhere different.

"Kensi?"

She had been so focused on listening to the people in the distance that the sound of her name whispered so close causes her to flinch.

"Deeks? You okay?" she whispers back, tilting her head in the direction of his voice.

"Define 'okay'." She can hear the forced humor in his voice. It's enough to tell her he isn't about to drop dead, and that's really all she can ask for considering their circumstances.

"There's at least five men that I can hear," she tells him, her mind going back to the yelling she can still hear coming from the house.

Deeks tries to shift his weight, his right leg having gone to sleep. "Who the hell did Miller piss off?"

Kensi stills when she hears the sound of a screen door slamming open, multiple heavy boots stomping down wooden stairs. "Sounds like we're about to find out." She feels Deeks tense against her shin, preparing for whatever comes next.

The back hatch of the bronco is lifted open, a cool breeze welcomingly hitting their sweated skin. Kensi expects the men to grab them, to angrily pull them from the back of the truck. What she doesn't expect is the heavy silence followed by an angry yet confused, "What the fuck?"

Kensi wishes she could see what's going on, wishes she could push the damn blindfold off. She hears Deeks grunt at the same time she feels him being pulled away, the movement causing the bronco to shift once again. She hears Deeks' feet land on the ground, can tell as they begin to shuffle away.

The hand that grabs her by the ankle, the other on her thigh, is a little gentler than she had expected. Other than applying the necessary force required to pull her out of the back of the truck, he doesn't make any further attempt to hurt her. Instead, he helps her into a standing position, making sure she isn't going to hit the ground before turning her, guiding her towards what she assumes is a house.

"There's three steps," he tells her, stopping long enough for her to kick out and feel for herself, one hand on her shoulder, the other on her bent elbow as he helps her up the stairs and into the open front door.

As they enter the house, she hears a thick accented "You gotta be kiddin' me!" which conjures an image of Joe Pesci, fedora, gold chain, and all. "What the fuck was you thinkin' huh?"

Kensi feels someone walk beside her, the back of their fist forcefully tapping against the front of the vest she's still wearing.

"They're still NCIS, what's it matter?" Boston asks indignantly, trying to justify whatever screw up he's being accused of.

"You're an idiot," someone mutters angrily, a slight southern accent peeking through as though he's trying to hide it. "Just get 'em outta here, we got bigger problems right now."

Still blindfolded, Kensi and Deeks are led through a series of doors, their shoulders occasionally bumping into the doorframes. "I'm gonna untie your hands. Don't try anything," one of the captors warns as Kensi feels the cool metal of a blade press against her wrist.

Despite the man's attempts to be gentle, it still hurts when he cuts through the plastic band holding her wrists together. She hears a second snap, indicating Deeks' hands have been freed.

They wait until they hear the sound of the door shutting behind them, a distinctive clink of a lock being turned before reaching up and removing the too tight blindfolds.

"Well, this is …homey," Deeks says, looking around the small room. "If you're a hobo."

"You would know," Kensi says walking to the other door, peering inside to find a small bathroom. She turns back towards Deeks, her eyes immediately going to his bloodied front. Without giving any warning or asking for permission, Kensi raises his shirt and bends forward, leveling her gaze with his bellybutton.

"The bleeding's slowed," she observes, "Probably started up again when you got out of the truck."

"I believe you mean when I was _forcefully removed_ from _the back of a truck_," Deeks corrects, "Against my will." His head is angled downwards, trying to get a good look at his most recent source of pain.

"I think I can see the bullet," Kensi says, dropping to her knees. She uses his shirt to dab at the wound, soaking in some of the more recent blood. "I can, the vest slowed it down." When Deeks doesn't respond, she looks up questioningly.

"What?" she asks, worried about his sudden silence. When she sees the thin smile, the too innocent look he's forcing into his eyes, she frowns. "You're a pig," she tells him, pushing his hips away as she stands to her feet.

"What? I didn't say anything!" he implores, still holding his shirt up.

Kensi busies herself with studying the room. "You were thinking it," she says, walking towards where the window should be, a sheet of plywood nailed in place, sealing them inside. "We've been taken hostage and you've got your mind in the gutter."

"Technically, we were kidnapped," Deeks tells her, kicking at the lone pillow and blanket lying on the floor apparently intended to be a bed. "And you were on your knees, give a guy a break."

"I was trying to determine whether or not you're about to drop dead on me." She walks back into the bathroom, the window boarded up, the mirror and medicine cabinet removed. "It's nice to see you're in no immediate danger." Anything and everything that could have possibly been used as a weapon has been removed from the bedroom and bathroom. Even the shower curtain is gone, nothing more than a single bar of soap still in the wrapper resting in the soap dish.

"Kensi," Deeks says warningly. She turns to find him near the would-be window, apparently having been inspecting it to see whether or not there's a way out. His hand's resting on the edge of the wood, his attention focused on the bedroom door.

She walks out of the bathroom, standing still as she listens to what's caught her partner's attention. The yelling's increased, thunderous and overwhelming as it filters through the locked door. They can hear things being thrown, the anger permeating with each word, the unmistakable echo of grief.

"I don't think Ricky made it," Deeks whispers, taking a step towards Kensi, both their eyes focused on the door. They stand side-by-side, each waiting for the storm to make its way to them. They don't have to wait long.

The footsteps come fast and hard, like a bull with its target in sight. They hear men yelling, trying to calm the man's anger, to make him see reason. Whoever's at the door struggles to open the lock, his fury jumbling his hands. When it swings open, Boston is standing in the doorway, his eyes trained on Kensi, a gun gripped tightly in his hand.

"You stupid bitch." His tone is full of ire and forcefully controlled. "You. Stupid. Bi—"

"Will, man. Let's go," the Joe Pesci wannabe implores, pulling on Will's shoulder, trying to steer the angry man away, back into the main part of the house. "Somebody help me!" he calls over his shoulder.

As Will from Boston begins to raise the gun, Deeks steps forward, putting himself between Kensi and the gun.

"Deeks—" Kensi warns, taking a step forward only to have Deeks push her back.

"You don't want to do this," Deeks says, his voice calm and seemingly full of reason.

"You don't know what I want," Will sneers, shaking the gun as if to emphasize his point. "She killed Ricky!"

"I know," Deeks quickly says, holding his hands in front of him in a calming gesture, "I know she did, but killing her won't change anything. And think about it, Will. You took us for a reason. Why bother bringing us here if you're just gonna kill us anyway?"

Will laughs and Deeks thinks it's one of the most terrifying sounds he's ever heard. "It won't matter," he says, shaking his head, chewing heavily on his bottom lip. "It won't matter, because _you_ weren't even who we were supposed to get."

Deeks doesn't know what to say, his mind reeling with questions. The man with the southern accent walks up, placing a hand on Joe Pesci, jerking his head as a sign that he should move out of the way.

Kensi and Deeks watch, each holding their breath as Mr. South squeezes into the doorway, his hand slowly reaching for Will's extended arm, his fingers wrapping around the barrel, pushing it towards the ground.

"Come on, Will. We both know you ain't gonna kill her. You're too smart for that." As soon as the gun is out of Will's hand, Mr. South turns to the men standing in the hallway. "Get him outta here."

As two men lead a distraught looking Will away, Mr. South turns to look at Kensi and Deeks. His arms and hands are coated in blood, presumably belonging to the now departed Ricky. His eyes are dark brown, his hair cut short, his shoulders broad with well-used muscles.

Will's gun still in his hand, Mr. South gestures to Deeks' shirt. "What happened to you?" His voice is thick and gravely, an air of exhaustion evident in the thick drawl.

"He was shot," Kensi pipes up, pushing past her partner's well-intended defense, choosing to stand shoulder to shoulder. "It didn't go deep."

"Was he wearing a vest?" he asks Kensi, assuming she's going to answer for Deeks in every regard.

Kensi nods, her own vest feeling suddenly tight and uncomfortable. Mr. South looks down at the gun in his hand, before glancing over his shoulder.

"Tino!," he calls down the hall, only to have the Joe Pesci wannabe slink around the corner, his eyes rimmed in red. "Get me the kit." Tino stands still for a moment, his eyes looking suspiciously towards Kensi and Deeks before he disappears again.

"You're not NCIS," Mr. South says, looking back towards Deeks. "Your badge reads LAPD, what were you doing so far from home?"

Deeks shrugs his shoulders, trying to determine whether or not Mr. South will be more ally or foe. "My job," Deeks answers, earning an ironic laugh from Mr. South.

"Well, don't hold this against me then, Detective. 'Cause I'm just doin' mine."

"What is your job?" Kensi asks, bringing the man's dark eyes back to her.

"Right now, it's to fix up your friend. We need you two alive," he says, handing the gun to Tino as he returns, a small first-aid kit in his hands. Tino takes the gun, shutting the door as Mr. South heads to the bathroom.

"I thought we weren't who you were after," Kensi yells towards the other room, insuring he can hear her over the sound of running water.

"You weren't," he yells back, not even bothering to deny it. "But now that we have you, you'll have to do." He walks back out, his hands free of Ricky's blood, still dripping from the lack of a towel. "And don't bother asking why," he tells her with a grin, one that would probably have made her weak in the knees were he not partly responsible for her kidnapping.

He takes the kit from Tino, looking uncomfortably between Deeks and Kensi. "Agent, would you mind stepping over there while I work on your friend here?" Kensi arches a brow, looking at him like he's insane. "No offense," he says quickly, working in that smile once more, "It's just I'd rather prefer not having to worry about you kicking my ass while I'm workin' on him."

It's a few moments before Kensi moves. She shares a look with Deeks, him nodding to let her know it's okay. Keeping both Mr. South and Tino in her line of sight, Kensi backs into the corner, her hands folded before her, her thumb nervously sliding over the knuckle of her first finger.

"Alright man, this might be easier if you're lying down," Mr. South tells Deeks, gesturing to the floor as he does so. Deeks looks at the man, wondering if he realizes he does actually have a bullet in his stomach.

"Yeah, that might be easier said than done," Deeks tells him as he places a hand to his abdomen, slowly attempting to drop down to one knee. Mr. South promptly grabs Deeks' arm helping him ease to the ground.

"So you're a doctor?" Deeks asks once he's on his back, his breathing a little labored, both from pain and fear as Mr. South pushes his shirt up.

"Nurse actually," Mr. South tells him, opening the small kit.

"So what do we call you?" Kensi asks from the corner, her discomfort rising with each passing second. Deeks looks more than vulnerable lying on the floor, Tino standing in the doorway, his finger on the trigger despite the gun being lowered.

Mr. South pauses for a moment, his eyes unfocused on the kit as he thinks about the answer. "Evan," he finally tells her, deeming it safe to give his first name. He pulls out a rolled up ace bandage and holds it over Deeks' mouth. "Here, bite down on this."

"Why?" Kensi and Deeks ask at the same time, both wondering what it is Evan's planning on doing.

"I'm fixing to get the bullet out. It might hurt, figured he'd want something to bite," Evan says like it's obvious.

Kensi suddenly has the image of blood spurting out of a bullet-free wound. "You can't take the bullet out," she tells him, taking a step forward from the corner. "He could bleed out."

"It's not that deep," Evan tells her, holding his hand up to stop her forward motion. "Most times, you'd be right. But you're probably gonna be here a while. Don't want infection setting in."

Kensi feels like screaming. She's read about treating bullet wounds in the field. Each and every single source stressed the importance of leaving the bullet in place until reaching a hospital. Although, they also made a point of stressing the importance of getting to a hospital ASAP.

Evan can sense Kensi's fear, her frustration even from across the room. "Listen. You know back in the 1800s, guns didn't really have that much of a kick to 'em. I mean, yeah, they'd kill you just as good as they would today, but the bullets didn't travel as fast." As he's talking, he holds the bandage back over Deeks' mouth, easing it between the detective's teeth before moving to the kit for a large pair of bright blue, plastic tweezers.

"During the Civil War, soldiers would get shot, but the bullet didn't go deep. It'd just sit below the surface, gathering bacteria, building an infection." He eases the tweezers into Deeks' stomach, never pausing in his narrative as Deeks bites down on the gauze, his fingers fisting into the material of his jeans. "If it were a leg or arm, doctors would have to cut 'em off. Gangrene's a nasty bugger. Most times though, when it was a gut shot or something, soldier's would die, usually beggin' for death from the pain. Sad thing is, most of 'em coulda been saved had the doctors taken the bullet out right from the beginning. Saving everybody a whole lot of trouble," he finishes, smiling as he holds the tweezers up for everyone to see, his other hand reaching for gauze to hold to Deeks newly bleeding stomach.

Kensi relaxes a little. Evan's deep voice calming her as she watches from the corner. There isn't as much blood as her imagination initially conjured, but there's still more than she's comfortable with.

The gauze quickly feels up, Evan replacing it and pressing down. "You think you're up for a stitch or two?" he asks Deeks who's too busy having his eyes clinched shut to see the wide smile on his temporary nurse.

Deeks spits out the bandage, letting roll to the floor. "Do I have a choice?"

The corners of Evan's mouth pull down as he tilts his head and shrugs, thinking about it. "Bleeding might stop. Y'all just have to keep putting pressure on it." He reaches into the kit, retrieving a small bottle of alcohol. "You might want to get that bandage back," Evan warns, twisting off the cap.

"Seriously?" Deeks asks, eyeing the small, clear bottle with trepidation. "You hate me that much?"

Evan simply smiles apologetically. "Think of gangrene man," he tells him, pouring as little as possible into the bleeding hole, immediately bringing his hand up to fan the burning. "Sorry."

Deeks just alternates between hissing an inhale and blowing out his cheeks in a distorted imitation of Lamaze breathing.

Evan places new gauze over the wound, guiding Deeks' hand to it before he starts to rise, bringing the kit with him. "We'll get you some towels. Press on it for a while, if twenty minutes go by and he's still bleeding," he says to Kensi, "bang on the door. I'll come stitch him up."

"Thank you," Kensi says, feeling somewhat odd thanking one of her captors. As soon as Evan and Tino are out the door, the lock clicking soon after, Kensi crosses the room, dropping to her knees as she presses down on the already saturated gauze.

"I think he might be right," Kensi tells him, as much to reassure him as herself. "The bleeding's not that bad."

"I think that freakin' alcohol hurt worse," Deeks tells her, continuing his therapeutic breathing. "God, this sucks."

Kensi nods her agreement, trying to find comfort in the fact that their situation could be worse. "Who do you think they were after?"

"No idea," he tells her, lifting his head to get a look at his stomach. "But it's someone in NCIS. Callen or Sam maybe?"

The sound of the door unlocking stops Kensi's reply. Evan pushes the door open just wide enough to peek inside. As he quickly places a few towels, extra pillow, blanket, and a couple bottles of water onto the floor beside the door, Kensi thinks she knows what a tiger must feel like at a zoo—watching as the zoo keeper tentatively places its food inside the cage, careful not to get too close.

"Don't forget, twenty minutes," Evan reminds her before disappearing back out the door.

"He seem familiar to you?" Kensi asks, standing to go retrieve the towels.

"Kinda like a redneck Callen," Deeks says, watching as she crosses the room.

Kensi shakes her head as she nears the deposited supplies. "He's in no way like Callen," she says, bending to pick up the towels. Her small laugh causes Deeks to frown in confusion.

"What's so funny?" he asks. She turns back around, holding a small familiar looking strip of white.

"He left you a band-aid," she says, smiling at the ridiculousness of it all. "The guy pulls a bullet out of you, and he leaves a band-aid. It's kinda funny."

Deeks stares at her for a moment before letting his head fall back to the ground. "The wonders of modern medicine," he jokes as she settles back down beside him, her legs crossed as she places one of the smaller towels over his stomach.

"What do you think happened with Sherrie Miller at the safe house?" she asks, her mind finally having time to go back to the case they had been working. It seems odd to believe that just over an hour ago, her and Deeks were on their way to meet Callen.

"Sam and Callen probably got there in time," Deeks guesses optimistically, bringing his arms up, interlocking his fingers so he can rest his head on his hands. "They and Conners probably got her and her son out before anything happened. They're probably freaking out about us by now."

Kensi snorts as she lifts the towel, pressing it back in place when she sees it's still bleeding. "I honestly don't think I've ever seen Callen or Sam freak out."

"Not even once?" Deeks asks.

"Well, there was that time Sam's car was stolen," Kensi says, smiling at the memory of Sam stomping around for three days. "Eric and Nell never were able to find Charlene."

Deeks' grin starts to fade. "You think they'll be able to find us?"

Kensi simply continues to press on the towel. "I hope so."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Callen runs the wet paper towel over the back of his neck, wiping away the last remnants of grape jelly DJ Miller had left behind. He waits for the water to warm a little, not hot, but not freezing either before he cups his hands, dipping his head to wash his face, wash away to sweat and grime associated with the desert.

He knows that Hetty's talking to Agent Conners' family. She had left soon after he and Sam had gotten back to Ops, leaving with nothing more than an order to find Kensi and Deeks.

He hears the annoying whine of the door hinge, the pressurized hiss as it slowly closes. He doesn't look up, expecting Sam to be the one to come find him. He's a little surprised when he hears Eric's nervous cough, the sound of the tech's fingers thrumming against a tablet.

Callen quickly wipes the excess water from his face, rubbing his fingers across his eyes to clear droplets from his lashes. "What's up?"

"Uh, just thought you'd want to know, the lab's still waiting for DNA to come back, but the test show two different blood types," Eric begins, his thumb sliding across the screen. "The blood on the shirt, vest, and car match Deeks', the other's an unknown."

"No match to Kensi?" Callen asks, wanting to be sure, needing some form of hope.

"No, and it's not for certain that it's Deeks' blood. I mean it's just a type match, we need DNA for complete confirmation," Eric offers hopefully.

Callen runs a hand over his mouth, reaching forward and cutting off the faucet. "The blood was in his seat, Eric. It was Kensi's shirt, his vest. It's his."

"I know," Eric admits, his eyes focusing on the tablet in his hands. "We've ran the audio from the call through every filter imaginable. There's nothing even remotely helpful on it. Tire tracks came back. It's a popular brand; they service mostly large trucks and SUVs, but nothing specific. At least where it could help us."

Callen nods, leaning back against the sink before crossing his arms. "So we got nothing?"

Eric rocks back on his heels, spreading his arms wide in a helpless gesture. "Pretty much."

Callen pinches the bridge of his nose before pushing off the sink and heading for the door. "That sounds about right," he mutters sarcastically as he pulls the door open.

"What are you going to do now?" Eric asks, following close behind.

"I'm gonna ask Daniel Miller what the hell's going on," Callen answers.

TBC...


	3. Tick Tock, Says the Clock

**It's a little intimidating how much response this story has already generated with just the first two chapters. I _really_ hope it doesn't end up disappointing. The whole thing's already planned out, it just needs to be written.**

* * *

The faucets are all messed up. You can't turn either one too far to the left or all you get is glacier cold. Too far to the right results in nothing more than a slight chill. It took a while, but Kensi's finally figured it out.

It's a combination of the two. Turn both the hot and cold halfway on and wham bam, thank you ma'am, you've got a nice warm temperature. She rips the soap from its wrapper, sticking it beneath the running faucet, watching as the blood turns the white bar a foamy shade of pink and brown, a curious mixture of colors.

The bathroom door is open. From her spot sitting on the edge of the tub, she can make out Deeks' profile from where he's lying on the floor. He had taken the discarded blindfolds, tied them into a tight ball, and is now tossing it into the air, a complete look of boredom overtaking his features.

She looks back down at her hands, the white of the soap bar completely hidden as she scrubs up her arms, the suds reaching towards the bend of her elbow. As she studies the dark outline of blood trapped in her nail beds, she thinks through the mental list of helpful information she's accrued over the years. The one most at the forefront of her mind-blood loss.

It's a common cause of death. It's how Ricky died, and that had been by her hand, albeit, he shot her partner first and was in the process of trying to shoot her. She doubts Will from Boston will take that into account.

Symptoms of blood loss include weakness, fatigue, lightheadedness, confusion-the list goes on and on. She knows the last symptom listed is death. She glances back over her shoulder, studying Deeks' face, trying to discern whether or not he's always been that pale, or if it's just the shoddy lighting that's causing him to look that way.

She turns back to her task, using one thumbnail to clean out from beneath the others. The pipes are old, they creak and rattle in the walls. There's a ring around the bottom of the tub, the drain stained yellow and rusted.

As she hears Deeks begin to move, grunting as he tries to stand on his feet, Kensi forces herself not to look, focusing instead on the luminescent rainbow of a bubble.

"Why're you doing it in the tub?" he asks, walking into the bathroom for the first time. Kensi doesn't answer, but waits for him to see for himself. "Oh," he says, taking in the small sink, both handles to the faucet conveniently absent.

She rinses off the last of the soap from her arms, standing to give him room to sit so he can clean up. She watches him carefully, looking for any sign that he had lost too much blood, that his stubborn determination to avoid needles at all cost would have lasting effects.

He manages to settle down fairly easily, his facial expressions being the only tell that he's in pain. Twice, she had almost gotten up and banged on the door, demanding Evan come back in and sew Deeks up. Twice, Deeks had insisted that they needed to wait a little longer, that it hadn't been a full twenty minutes yet.

Truthfully, she has no idea how much time had passed, neither one of them do. They had been relieved of their watches and phones before even being put into the back of the bronco. Having no way of looking outside, there's no possible way for them to tell how much time has passed.

In the end, it hadn't mattered. Deeks and his needle phobia had won out, the bleeding stopping and requiring nothing more than a band-aid. Well, getting nothing more than a band-aid. In her opinion, it _required_ so much more.

Kensi dries her hands on one of the remaining towels, her eye focused on the boarded up window. She's already tried pulling the board back, resulting in nothing other than a splinter.

Tossing the towel over the sink to dry, she leaves Deeks in the bathroom, venturing back into the adjoining room. She's not by definition claustrophobic, never has been. But looking at the four walls, each too close for comfort, Kensi can't help feeling as though that might change.

She pulls at the Velcro of her vest, tossing it to the side, it falling a few feet short of the bloodied towel. Her headache made a return shortly after the initial panic of being taken began to clear. It's a slow throb, mostly at the base of her skull, nothing she can't handle.

She hears the faucet turn off in the bathroom, listens for any sign that Deeks'll have trouble standing. Her eyes go back to the towel near the discarded vest, the blood having already turned a dark red, borderline brown.

"You think they're gonna feed us anytime soon?" Deeks asks as he walks out of the bathroom, his hands now free of blood. Kensi turns and stares at him incredulously. She's at a complete loss for words. "What?" he asks, recognizing her patented _Deeks, you're an idiot_ glare.

"We've been kidnapped, and you're worried about food," she clarifies.

"Excuse me," he says slightly offended, "This is actually my first time being kidnapped. I just assumed feeding the hostages was part of the plan. I mean, Cowboy Evan was so nice, he gave me a nice big band-aid for my bullet hole. And please, lets not forget about the _lovely_ accommodations." He gestures around the near empty room, his foot kicking one of the lumpy pillows.

Kensi turns to face him fully, a sharp retort making its way to her lips. But she stops when she sees that his impromptu kick had knocked him off balance, his hand discreetly reaching for the nearby wall. Lightheadedness. Guess she can add irritability to the list of symptoms as well.

Her brow still creased in a combination of annoyance and concern, she crosses the small room. As she places the back of her hand on his forehead, all annoyance she had been feeling due to his bitter demeanor quickly disappears.

"You're clammy," she tells him, bringing her other hand up and feeling his cheeks. "Sit down," she tells him, pointing to the pillow he had just kicked as she walks to the door, making a fist and pounding.

"What are you doing?" he asks, making no move to follow her orders. She takes a step back when the sound of footsteps can be heard.

"What?" someone yells through the door.

"I need to talk to Evan," she yells back, ignoring Deeks' questioning glances.

"Evan ain't here, Sweetheart. All you got's me," the accent making her think it's Tino.

Kensi chooses to ignore the 'sweetheart' comment and forces her voice to take on a friendly intonation, trying not to piss off the only person who can help them. "Listen, my partner lost a lot of blood earlier. He needs something to eat. Do you think you could hook us up?"

"This ain't a hotel," he grounds out, his voice fading as though he's walking away.

"I'm aware," she deadpans, friendly intonation forgotten. "But he needs to get his sugar up." She waits a few moments longer. When there's no response, she takes a step closer, her mouth at the edge of the door. "Look, I'm not asking for a steak dinner, just a little something to hold him over till Evan gets back."

"What makes you think Evan's gonna give you anything?" Tino calls back. Kensi can hear the squeak of an armchair shifting beneath someone's weight.

"Because he knows the dangers of blood loss. He'll know that my partner needs something to eat," Kensi says confidently, hoping her seemingly self-assured bravado will be enough to convince Tino. "Please?" she adds after a few moments of silence.

She smiles when she hears what she thinks is a mutter "For crying out loud," followed by the squeak of the armchair. Smiling semi-triumphantly, she turns her attention back to her suddenly ornery partner. "Sit," she says again, pointing towards the ground.

Deeks lets his back fall against the wall before walking himself down, his legs managing to hold him up the entire way to the ground this time. His bottom securely planted on the floor, he looks up to his partner, her arms crossed impatiently, her hip cocked out as she waits by the door.

"I think you just pissed off my cousin Vinny," he jokes, stretching his legs out in front of him. Something that sounds like a can opener begins to whir in a distant room.

"You hear the resemblance too?" she asks, smiling.

Deeks shrugs, letting the wall support his head. "Kinda hard not to. It was either that or Jersey Shore."

"Calling forth all the stereotypes there, aren't ya?" Kensi points out as she shifts on her feet, her eyes unconsciously scanning the room for the umpteenth time.

"It's not my fault he's living up to it," Deeks quickly defends, stopping when the lock on the door begins to move.

"Get on the other side of the room," Tino calls out, the movement of the lock stalling.

Kensi takes a few steps backwards, saying 'Okay,' when she's far enough away. The door cracks open, and two large plastic cups are sat on the floor, a single spoon sticking out of one. "Now, keep it down," Tino warns, slamming the door shut behind him.

Kensi walks forward, eyeing the two cups disdainfully, her nose scrunching in suspicion. "What is it?" Deeks asks, his curiosity peeked.

Kensi bends and picks up both cups, smirking as she walks towards Deeks, extending her arms as she hands him the food. "Peaches and Spaghettios," she tells him, shaking each cup accordingly.

"With meatballs?" he asks, accepting the cups and peering inside. "With meatballs," he says appreciatively. He grabs the spoon and digs in, the cold pasta bringing back memories of childhood, sitting on the front steps eating dinner straight out of a can. "So, Special Agent Kensi Blye," he says after swallowing a rather large mouthful, "think you can save our asses with a spoon?" he holds said spoon up for her to see, streaks of tomato sauce coating the sides.

Kensi simply smirks as she continues to pace back and forth across the room. "Just eat, Deeks."

And Deeks does, slowly taking one small bite after another, watching as his partner repeatedly runs through scenarios in her mind, driving herself crazy trying to think of a way out. He watches her go to the window three times, the one in the bathroom twice, her fingers digging beneath the wooden barrier, trying to find a give. When the cup is halfway empty, Deeks drops the spoon back amongst the remaining Spaghettios, holding the cup out as he calls to Kensi.

"All right, your turn," he says, causing her to look at him questioningly.

"What?" she asks, her fingers still running over the edges hiding the window.

"You need to eat. Come on." He shakes the cup, the spoon rattling against the plastic sides. "Have a seat," he tells her, patting the ground next to him.

Kensi lets her hands fall to her sides as she stares at him, at the blue cup, its insides coated in a highly processed, tomato sauce. "Seriously?"

"Don't even act grossed out. I've seen you shovel down pasta three days past its expiration date with a spoon you dug out of your sink. This has got to be more sanitary than that." He shakes the cup again.

With a slightly offended glare, Kensi plops down next to him, her eyes never leaving his as she indignantly takes the cup from his outstretched hand. "We spend too much time together," she informs him, taking a bite of the pasta, her stomach growling, reminding her that she had, indeed been hungry.

"I don't see that changing any time soon," Deeks says, picking up the cup of peaches, and using his thumb and forefinger, pinches a large slice of the fruit from the cup. "What with our cozy little room for two and all."

Kensi brings her knees up to her chest, the cup resting on her lower thighs as she continues to eat her share. "How long do you think we've been here?"

"A while. Probably at least four or five hours, maybe longer," Deeks says, licking fruity syrup from his fingers. Kensi nods, noticing the sugar's already seemed to have helped Deeks' mood.

"So they definitely know we're missing by now," Kensi deduces as she takes another bite, licking the spoon, forgetting about her earlier concern for sanitation.

"You said you heard Eric answer the phone. They knew we were in trouble from the beginning, Kens." Deeks tilts his cup to the side, offering her a peach. "They've been looking for us the whole time, I promise," he tells her as she reaches into the cup, pinching a slice for herself.

They sit quietly, the only noise being the TV from the other room, the sound of chewing, and the occasional scrape of a spoon against plastic.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

They say time flies when you're having fun. Turns out it doesn't like to lollygag when you're afraid either. It's only been about six hours, but Callen could swear it feels like less than two since arriving at the crime scene to find Kensi and Deeks missing.

He's trying his best to be patient as he waits for the guards to bring in Daniel Miller. The room is large and empty, tables and chairs are bolted to the floor, dull beige paint covers almost every surface. The sun's shining through the high windows, the metal bars casting shadows across the metallic table, distorting as they reach the angle of the wall, stretching like a funhouse mirror.

He flips through the file one more time, studying the more recent additions. Images of Kensi's car, Deeks' vest, and Conners' slumped form pop out in five by eight glossy color. Generic tire tracks, unmatched blood types, all working in tandem to generate more questions than answers.

He can hear the footsteps echoing towards him, the clanging jingle of the guard's keys as they sway on his hips.

"Open on two!" the guard yells with practiced patience, the dynamic properly proportioned to the cavernous-like halls, just right for reaching the ears of those in charge.

"Cuffs on or off?" the same guard asks, his hand ready to move towards his keys should Callen give the word.

"On," Callen tells him, his eyes trained on the arrogant smirk decorating Daniel's face. "Sit down," he orders, not leaving any indication that he's there to play games.

Daniel Miller quirks an eyebrow, but sits down nonetheless. He brings his hands up, slamming them down on the table, the thump of flesh and clank of metal blending nicely as his wrists come in contact with the table's surface. He shrugs impatiently, staring at Callen with a look that asks 'Well, what do you want?'

"You lied, Miller," Callen tells him, cutting right to the chase. "Your Canadian, Ferret? He's dead. Has been for over a year, and if you're the businessman you claim to be, there's no way you didn't know that. Now, I'm going to ask you again and I dare you to lie to me—who do you think is after your family?"

Daniel Miller seems completely unfazed at the news of Jean-Luc Ferret's death. He leans back in his chair, resting his palms on his thighs. "I really thought it was Ferret, man. I've got no idea—"

Callen slams his fist on the table, causing Daniel to jump, the file bouncing once before settling back down. "Stop lying!" he yells. He can hear the guards shifting outside, his anger evident even through the solid door. "I have had a really bad day," he begins in a calmer, yet still stern tone. "One of our agents is dead, two more are missing, and it all somehow ties back to you."

"How's that?" Daniel asks, having the decency to sound a little nervous.

"Because Agent Don Conners was shot while protecting your wife and son," Callen says, slamming a photo of the fallen agent on the table, Daniel Junior's toy truck still resting on the counter in the background. "And the other two agents were ambushed while on their way to provide backup." Four more photos, each depicting the crime scene centered around Deeks and Kensi's abduction are added to the display.

Callen waits, his eyes never leaving Daniel's suddenly nervous face.

"I, uh…" Daniel begins, stuttering over the words, all previous confidence gone. "I swear, I have no idea who could be doing this."

Callen presses his lips into a thin line as he reaches into his pocket for his phone. The little crevice between his eyebrows deepens as he thumbs through photos, searching for the right one.

Propping his elbow on the table, he holds the phone where Daniel can see it. "What about him? You ever see him before?"

Callen watches as Daniel's face drains of color, as his eyes minutely widen, his jaw locking into place before he shakes his head, "Nope, don't know who he is."

"His name's Joshua Greene. He's the sniper that tried to take out your family earlier today. Look closer," Callen orders. Daniel's eyes shift from the phone to Callen, his brow wrinkling as he takes in the information Callen's just told him.

He shakes his head again, but this time it's more out of confusion than denial. "Who is Joshua Greene to you, Daniel?" Callen asks.

Daniel seems to come out of his shock, and Callen can literally see the confusion and shock disappear. "I told you, I don't know him," Daniel insists.

Callen sets the phone on the table, ducking his head as he rubs that spot behind his neck, that little bundle of nerves between his shoulder blades burning with frustration. He can tell Daniel's lying. He had seen the recognition in the man's eyes when Daniel looked at the phone. Judging by his confusion and unspoken denial, Joshua Greene obviously isn't someone Daniel had expected to try and kill his family.

"I want you to know something Daniel," Callen whispers, gathering the photos from the table, keeping his voice low so the guards won't hear. "You're going to prison. Leavenworth's gonna chew you up and spit you out."

He stands, taking the file and phone with him. As he rounds the table, he leans down, whispering over Daniel's shoulder. "But if any more of my agents die, you'll never make it that far."

Callen doesn't bother looking to see whether or not his promise had any effect. He simply knocks on the door, signaling the end of the interrogation.

"Open on two!"

TBC...


	4. What's in a Name?

**Everybody's pretty familiar with Jeopardy, right? The game show with the catchy tune? There's no need for me to have to explain it. Right?**

* * *

"What is The Ohio," Deeks mutters, smiling broadly as he hears the same sentence muffled through the door, Alex Trebek confirming the response for eight hundred dollars.

He's leaning against the wall, his head tilted towards the doorframe, listening for the game show contestant to choose the next category as he tosses the blindfold ball between his hands.

"Cry Me A River for six hundred, Alex," a man says nervously.

"Five bucks says Tino screams 'the Nile' again," Deeks whispers to Kensi. Kensi smiles as she continues to work the spoon beneath one of the nails securing the board over the window.

"Ten says he calls 'the Mississippi'," she wagers, sighing as she eases the spoon beneath the nail's head.

"I believe you mean 'the Missyppi'," Deeks corrects using Tino's pronunciation of the river as he tilts his head some more, listening for the clue.

"What is Missyppi!" Tino yells enthusiastically once the clue's been read.

"What is the Seine!" Deeks corrects loudly through the door, ignoring Kensi's triumphant grin. Deeks can almost picture Tino's confused look, imagining the way he's looking over the armchair towards the door, wondering how long Deeks has been listening.

To Deeks' surprise, the TV volume is turned up, allowing him to hear without straining his ears. Kensi quirks an amused eyebrow, her hands never stilling as they continue to work the spoon.

"Who is Calvin Coleridge," Deeks calls out, Tino having not even tried to offer a guess.

When Alex confirms his answer, Tino yells through the door, "Showoff!"

"You have no idea," Kensi mutters, smiling when Deeks extends his middle finger, his attention focused on the sound of the TV.

"Who is Shakespeare!?" Tino guesses confidently, Deeks muttering hesitantly, unsure of his answer.

"Who is William Wordsworth," Kensi informs them correctly a split second before the contestant gives his answer.

"Hey man, sounds like yo girl's getting' the better of you!" Tino jibes, clearly enjoying the game. "You're gonna hafta keep yo eye on her!"

"You have no idea," Deeks mutters, waggling his eyebrows and grinning from ear to ear when Kensi replicates his earlier reaction, extending her middle finger.

"Damn it," she hisses as the spoon slips, her knuckles grating across the coarse wood. She angrily tosses the makeshift tool across the room, causing it to skid into the bathroom.

"Kens, calm down," Deeks says soothingly, forgetting the game for a moment. "You're not gonna change anything by loosing your cool."

"I'm not loosing my cool," she whispers harshly, the stray strand of hair falling loose in her face perfecting the image of an angry ex on a soapbox. "I am _trying_to get us out of here."

Deeks twists his mouth, watching as she tucks the stray strand back behind her ear before rubbing her hands over her face. "We need to get out of here," she says.

Deeks tosses the ball towards the pile of blankets in the corner. He turns and pushes himself up off the floor, using the wall for support before crossing the room. "Kensi, look at me."

She lets her hands fall heavily to her sides as she lifts her head, her eyes warning him not to make fun. He stretches his arm across her shoulders, pulling her into him, side-to-side. "We are going to get out of here," he tells her, keeping his voice low so Tino won't hear. "You remember that time with the Russians?"

Kensi looks up at him through the corner of her eyes. "You're gonna have to be more specific."

Deeks grins and shakes his head. "What does that say about our lives?" he asks, earning a small, crooked smile from Kensi. "The time with the lasers," he clarifies, and he feels her shift beside him.

"Yeah, I remember," she tells him, not sure where he's going with this train of thought.

"How long where you in that room? Hours, and there was nothing you could do but wait."

"Deeks," she interrupts, her voice still low, "if you're trying to cheer me up, you're going about it the wrong way."

"You couldn't even move, let alone search the room for a way out," he continues as though she hadn't even spoken. "You trusted us to find you, and knowing you, you were waiting for a chance to make a move."

Kensi crosses her arms across her chest, her hands wrapping around her elbows as she stares at the wall, his arm still holding her in a sideways hug. "Do you have a point in this little monologue of yours?"

"Just that you should think of this as a slightly less combustible room of lasers. That Callen, Sam, and the gang are doing everything they can to find you, but it would probably be a good idea to keep your eyes peeled for a chance to make a break for it," he rattles off with an air of nonchalance. "We're not getting out of this room on our own, we both know the windows are probably secured from the outside as well judging by the fact that absolutely no light is shining through, and we don't know what Snow White's motley crew is planning to do with us. Our best bet is to play nice and wait it out."

Kensi inhales deeply, letting the logic of his words seep past his unique phrasing. "Snow White's motley crew?" she questions, turning her head to face him.

Deeks only shrugs, smiling as he gestures to the door with his thumb. "Which dwarf do you think Vinny'd be? Dopey?" He lets his arm fall from her shoulders as she playfully pushes away. "I know it's not Grumpy. I think Will's got that one in the bag, and we both know who Doc is," he continues, easing back down towards the floor.

Kensi allows a little laugh, having to agree as she approaches the far wall, bending her knees as she sits on the pile of blankets, her fingers immediately going to the makeshift ball Deeks had made. "Jeopardy comes on at six," she says, looking to him and tossing the ball his way.

He catches it one-handed with ease, immediately sending it back her way. "We got the call at about eleven this morning," he says, following her train of thought.

The ball practically lands in her open hands as though he were aiming for her palm. "So we've been here around six hours, allowing an hour for the drive here."

Toss the ball.

"It feels like longer."

Toss the ball.

"It always does."

Toss the ball.

Toss the ball.

"You know they're looking for you too?" Kensi says after a few moments of silence, Tino's muffled TV the only sound.

"What?" Deeks asks, his arm raised, the fabric ball ready to send.

"Callen and the gang," Kensi explains, using his words from earlier. "You said that they were looking for me. I just…I mean you know they're looking for both of us right?"

Deeks lets the ball go, gently tossing it across the room. "Yeah Kens, I know," he tells her, smiling a crooked smile.

Kensi catches the ball and lets it rest in her lap. "You're as much a part of this team as the rest of us."

Deeks bends one leg, foot planted on the floor as he rests an arm on his bent knee, his wrist hanging limp, fingers dangling above the floor. "Can I ask what's bringing on the little heart to heart? Because you aren't known for wanting to talk things out, at least not with me."

Kensi shrugs, looking down as her fingers play over the outside of the ball. "We talk," she defends. "In fact, we're almost always talking."

"Yeah," Deeks concedes, squinting up towards the ceiling as the glow from the filament in the single light bulb begins to ebb and grow. "But most of it isn't serious. You don't really do serious unless things are, you know, serious."

"Well, I think this counts as being pretty serious," she admits, leaning back against the wall, stretching her legs out in front of her.

Deeks breathes in deeply through his nose, his lips pressing into a thin line, puffing out his upper lip. "For the record," he says, causing her to look up, his voice sounding uncomfortable with admission, "I know I'm a part of the team."

"Good," she tells him, feeling a little embarrassed for having brought it up. Their eyes widen when they hear the unmistakable sound of tires over gravel, a series of doors slamming before voices filter through the wall. The sudden absence of the TV tells them that Tino had heard it too.

Kensi and Deeks sit quietly, their eyes closing, trying to block out one sense in order to strengthen another.

"You take care of him?" Tino asks moments after the front door slams open, the armchair squeaking once again.

"They got Josh," someone says, a new voice that neither Deeks nor Kensi recognizes. "The stupid asshole killed a fed, and they caught him."

Deeks' eyes fly open to find Kensi staring at him, fear and worry taking over the dark mismatched orbs. They both remain quiet, each hoping the new voice will enlighten them as to who 'Josh' is, and even more importantly, who it is he killed.

"What do you mean they caught him?" Tino asks, his voice taking on a high-pitched quality, his disbelief clear with the rising octave. "He wasn't even supposed to shoot anybody man! He was supposed to be a decoy, how the hell does he fuck that up?"

Kensi brings her legs in, easing to her knees as she continues to listen. She's finding it hard to sit still, her nerves driving her up the wall, that internal drive to act fighting against the need to be quiet.

Evan's deep voice enters the mix, that calm gravel a sharp contrast to Tino's high whine. "What about them?" he asks, ignoring Tino's rant.

"What?" Tino sounds confused, slightly annoyed that Evan seems to be on a different track. "They're fine, I fed 'em, they're a couple of regular Einsteins. Now what the fuck are we gonna do 'bout Josh?"

"He killed a federal agent," Evan says, his voice still that deep calm, Tino's distress having no effect on him. "He messed up, he's gone. We stick to the plan like nothing's changed."

Deeks brings his lower lip in between his teeth, letting his tongue run across the soft edge. A nervous habit, but one that helps him concentrate, helps him keep his cool. He hears something that sounds like drawers being opened and shut, something heavy slamming against a counter.

"A dead agent, man. This is bad," the unknown voice says worriedly. "They're not gonna want to cooperate when we just ganked one of their own."

"They will unless they want two more dead." Deeks looks back to Kensi as Will's angry growl grows closer. The door handle rattles, the sound of the lock sliding out of place.

Evan obviously steps forward, the lock stilling as he speaks. "Will, killing them will only make things worse."

"It'd sure as hell'd make me feel better," Will spats, and Deeks' imagination calls forth the memory of Will pointing a gun at Kensi. "We just fucking dumped Ricky's body like he was a piece of trash, and you're wanting me to play nice with his killers? You're insane."

"I'm not saying you have to like them," Evan says, his voice just outside the door, "Just don't kill them."

Will doesn't respond with words. He simply pushes the door open, a gun in one hand, a digital camera in the other. "Rise and shine sweethearts. Time to say 'cheese'."

Kensi squares her shoulders, her eyes darting quickly to Evan standing in the doorframe before landing on Will's scathing smirk. She doesn't say anything, and neither does Deeks. They remain where they are, Kensi on her knees while Deeks sits slumped against the wall, his arm still resting on a bent knee.

"We're gonna take a few pictures. Something to send home to your friends," Will tells them, fake enthusiasm in each word as he hands the gun to Evan. He turns on the camera, the aperture automatically adjusting as he raises it, pointing to Kensi. "Well, I have to admit Sweetheart, the camera just loves you."

Other than an angry glare, Kensi shows no emotion as he continues to click away. Apparently satisfied, Will turns his attention to Deeks. He presses the button, the bright flash lighting the room momentarily before Will frowns.

"Man, you gotta move or something. All that blood on you, for all they know you could be dead in these pictures." Will absently waves a hand towards Deeks' ruined shirt, the bloodstains having dried a deep color, the edges of the stains making his t-shirt stiff.

In a move that screams _Sam Hanna is a bad influence_, Deeks lifts the arm on his knee, and for the second time within five minutes, extends his middle finger.

Evan can't help the small chuckle as he watches the scene play out, Deeks' pretend look of boredom adding to the photo.

"I'm glad you think this is funny, Cowboy," Will says, taking one more picture before letting the camera fall to his side, turning and reclaiming his gun. Making a show of checking the chamber, he looks back towards Kensi, winking before walking out the door. "Gadget! Get your ass in here, I got the pics!"

Evan raises his eyebrows in a 'what can you gonna do' gesture as he backs to the door.

"Evan," Deeks says, stopping the man as his hand reaches the door's handle. "Do you know the name of the agent that was killed?"

The little mirth that was present in Evan's face disappears as he looks apologetically at the two agents. Shaking his head, he looks down at the doorknob, unable to meet their eyes. "No, I don't. We were just told that an agent had been killed."

He takes a step out the door, before stopping. His eyes still on the doorknob, Kensi can see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. "I'm sorry," he tells them, pulling the door shut behind him, the lock sliding into place soon after.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Nell taps the stylus on the edge of the tablet as she waits for Hetty to give the word. Sam and Callen are stationed near the table, their backs resting against the high surface as they wait impatiently for someone to explain why they've been called up there.

If the situation weren't so serious, Nell would smile at their identical poses, the similar frowns decorating their brows, almost as though they practice trying to imitate one another. Although, she knows its simply a condition of being around one another so often, being so in tuned with their partner that it just comes natural.

"Miss Jones," Hetty says, nodding to Nell, indicating its okay to proceed. Nell nods back as she raises the tablet closer to her face, the oversized stylus clicking against the surface.

"These were sent to Joshua Greene's phone twenty minutes ago," she explains, the large screen lighting up as a picture of a very pissed off Kensi is displayed, her hands fisted at her sides. "Eric's trying to track them as we speak, but it's looking like whoever sent them knew what he or she was doing."

She presses the stylus to the tablet again, another photo popping up alongside Kensi's. Nell looks to Sam and Callen, sharing their small smiles.

"Well, at least we know he's alive," Sam says, his arms crossing across his chest.

Callen takes a step closer, examining the photos, his anger still present beneath the smile brought on by Deeks' greeting. Nell sees his eyes focus on the blood stains decorating Deeks' shirt, on the pale pallor of the detective's skin. "At least there's that."

"There's more," Nell says, two pairs of eyes turning towards her. Taking in a steadying breath, she gestures back towards the screen. "They also sent a text message."

The text appears, overlapping the photos of the missing agents, the message short but clear.

_Release Daniel Miller, and we'll release your agents._

"What the hell?" Sam asks, stepping forward to stand next to Callen. "These guys are working _with_ Daniel Miller?"

TBC...


	5. A Spoonful of Sugar

**It's been brought to my attention that the language is a bit rough. I just went through this whole thing and edited it. It was not my intention to offend anyone, I simply had an image of how each of these bad guys acted and I sort of let that take over. I'll try limiting it, but this is rated T, and I'm about to put a language warning in the summary. **

**On a separate and completely unrelated note. I found out I'm a big fat scaredy cat. I watched the Grudge last night, all by my lonesome at one o'clock in the frigging morning. I had trouble sleeping because I kept expecting to open my eyes and find a dead Japanese boy staring at me. Not cool.  
**

* * *

Deeks wiggles his toes, the action causing the half-inch of water to ripple out against the tile. Though someone had already turned off the water to the house, the bathroom is still flooded, the bedroom's carpet outside the small tiled room completely saturated. Little puddles squish up around their bare feet when they walk, bubbling between their toes.

They can still hear someone under the house, banging around as they try to fix whatever had caused the ruptured pipes. Judging by the sounds of the earlier yelling, the flooding had not been limited to Deeks and Kensi's small bathroom.

There had been a rumbling, pipes creaking and the telltale sound of water gurgling past an opened drain. At first Kensi and Deeks ignored it, it had become a common sound anytime one of their captors turned on the kitchen sink or flushed another bathroom's toilet. But when the gurgling turned to splashing, bursts of air shooting forth from the faucets intermittently like a home made geyser, the red necks' tribute to Old Faithful, they knew it couldn't be ignored.

The sink and tub had begun to flood, water shooting forth from the drain. While the tub filled, the sink began to overflow, dousing the floor in cold water.

It's been over an hour since the water stopped. No one had bothered to come in and see if they were okay, to check whether or not the flooding had included the hostage's small space. Deeks realizes its probably stupid to think that they would have, but he just finds it difficult to fathom how people can treat other people as though their anything less than human.

He can make out Evan's voice coming up through the floor as the man works on fixing the pipes, the unknown voice from earlier standing right outside the boarded up window, handing Evan the tools he needs judging by the conversation he can hear.

"Well, this is nice," Deeks says walking back through the bathroom into the bedroom. The sight before him causes him to freeze in the doorway. "What are you doing?"

"Relieving stress," Kensi tells him as she continues to stretch her fingers towards her toes. "I'm locked in a room with no way out, surrounded by what you call Snow White's motley crew," her voice is evened and controlled as she grasps her ankles and pulls her chest into her thighs, stretching the back of her legs taught, "I just learned a few hours ago that one of our coworkers and close friends is dead, although I have no idea which one, and to top it all off, the room is freaking flooded."

"Not all of it," he points out, gesturing to the dry patch of carpet she's currently standing over. They had already moved the blankets, pillows and remaining clean towels to the far corner farthest from the flooding. "And I'm pretty sure that's the cleanest that floor's been in a while," he tells her, turning back to the bathroom.

Kensi stops her stretching and straightens to a standing position, her hands absently pulling down on her tank top, hiding the small space of skin that had been revealed when the shirt rode up. There's more gurgling, more of the short bursts of air. Deeks takes a step back, his eyes immediately going to the tub, waiting for another burst of water.

He hears the tank of the commode filling up, the pipes taking on their normal grind. "I think they fixed it," he says quietly, his feet splashing onto the cold tiles, the hem of his jeans continuing to soak up the water with each step.

Sudden knocking on the boarded window causes him to jump, catching him off guard.

"Detective," Evan's muffled gravel calls out, "Check and see if the water's working!"

Deeks bends forward and turns on the faucet, laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. He's actually doing his kidnappers a favor. "Yeah, it works!" he tells them as the cold water runs smoothly, raising his voice so they can hear.

"I'm starting to think Cowboy Evan might be a jack of all trades," Deeks comments as he turns off the water and walks back into the bedroom. "Nurse, Therapists to Psycho Will from Boston, and now plumber. Not bad for a kidnapper."

"I guess," Kensi says with a semi-sarcastic snort, and Deeks stops mid-step, his head tilting as he contemplates her tone of voice.

"What was that?" he asks her, his tone light his eyes squinting as he begins to put two and two together.

She tosses her hair over her shoulder, cocks out a hip and begins to fiddle with the hair band around her wrist. "What was what?"

"That thing you just did," he tells her, pointing at her accusingly, his eyes widening as he comes to a conclusion. "Oh. My. God. You like Cowboy Evan," he whispers, complete shock taking over his face.

"What!" she asks incredulously. "Deeks, the man is holding us hostage. He and his little friends have us locked in a room." She pinches her thumbs and middle fingers together, punctuating the air every few words like a painter adding her finishing touches. "What happened in your life to screw with that space between your ears that you call a brain so much that you could actually think I'd be attracted to a kidnapper?"

"You did that little snort thing. The one you do that sounds all 'if you say so', you do that when you agree with something but want to hide that you're agreeing with it." He grins, more than content with his little reasoning.

"You're insane," she tells him, crossing her arms across her chest. Deeks just grins more as he takes in her defensive stance. For a woman trained in subterfuge, she sure has a great number of tells.

"I'm not saying you're going full on Stockholm syndrome here, Kens. But admit it, you find him a little attractive, even if it's just physically."

"You are insane," she repeats, eliminating the abbreviation in hopes to add emphasis to her point.

As she turns from him, gathering the empty water bottles to refill now that the water's been turned back on, Deeks broadens his smile, continuing despite her dismissive behavior. "You can deny it all you want, but I heard the snort. You got a crush on our little redneck version of Callen."

He has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing out loud when she calls to him from the bathroom, her voice rising over the sound of running water. "Callen's eyes are blue, idiot. Evan's are brown. I thought we already established that they're nothing alike."

"Oh, Kensi. You crack me up with all your stubborn denial," he whispers, barely loud enough for her to hear.

"What?" she asks, as she moves to the second bottle of water.

"What?" he imitates, feigning ignorance, pretending as though he hadn't spoken.

"I said Callen looks nothing like that man." She walks out of the bathroom and hands him a bottle of water, purposefully not mentioning Evan's name.

Deeks takes the bottle and begins to guzzle it down. Kensi has already made him drink three, constantly lecturing him on the dangers of dehydration and blood loss.

"You have to admit there's a slight resemblance. I mean, the hair, the build… they could be cousins," Deeks shrugs, knowing it'd take a miracle to make her agree with him. "But then again, I'm an idiot so what do I know." He grins, letting her know he isn't even remotely serious.

Kensi pushes on his shoulder, keeping her hand there should the act knock him off balance. "Exactly."

They hear more talking coming through the outside wall, shortly followed by slamming car doors and tires slowly rolling over gravel. "Seems like somebody's leaving," Deeks says, "Think Tino'd let us listen to Wheel of Fortune?"

Kensi's smile dies on her lips as she hears voices overpowering the clanking around in the kitchen. "Sounds like Tino's not one of our babysitters." The thick Boston accent is evident even in Will's laugh. It sounds as though he's rummaging through plastic bags, obviously in a good mood—weird considering the majority of the house was flooded just over an hour ago.

"You kiddies hungry?" he calls through the door, kicking loudly with his tennis shoe, shaking the door in its frame. "Get back so we can open the door."

Neither Kensi nor Deeks give him any sign that they've moved. They stand side by side, waiting for the door to open, for that cocky, pissed off smirk they've come to associate with the receding hairline and thick brow.

Will just sort of bends at the waist, just enough to drop the styrofoam plates on the ground, not even looking to see if the carpet's dry. "Eat up, that's all you're getting for a while," he tells them before backing out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

"He's a nice fellow," Deeks says with mock enthusiasm as Kensi gathers to two plates. "Spaghettios again?"

"Cheeseburgers," Kensi says, sounding as surprised as she feels. "With french-fries."

"Sweet." Deeks reaches for his plate before walking towards the only dry portion of the room and plopping down, using the corner of the wall for support. Kensi follows suit, easing down beside him, her knee knocking against his as they sit Indian style, the plates balanced in their laps.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Sam had felt a small moment of panic when Eric called letting him know that the state police had found a body with DNA that had matched their crime scene. For a split second, Sam had forgotten about the unknown blood match, that he had seen photographic proof that Deeks had survived the initial shooting.

Now, standing in the hallway of the county morgue, waiting for the medical examiner to finish whatever it is she's doing, Sam isn't sure if he feels relieved about finding this new piece of the puzzle or not. If this John Doe turns out to be a member of the team that took Kensi and Deeks, that's apparently working to have Daniel Miller released, then the kidnappers may want retaliation for the death of one of their own, putting Kensi and Deeks in even more danger than before.

However, this man's identity could be what's needed to tie everything together. It could help Sam and the others figure out who's after Sherrie Miller and her son and why they want her traitorous husband released from federal custody.

"NCIS?" a thin man asks, his hair tied back in a loose ponytail, the sleeves of his scrubs barely concealing an impressively sized tattoo on his left bicep. "Doc's this way." He gestures towards a set of double doors, taking a step backwards, indicating that Sam and Callen should follow.

The tattooed assistant pushes open the door, stepping in far enough to say "The agents are here," before smiling at Sam and Callen, holding the door open for them to pass through before leaving.

"Agents Hanna and…uh don't tell me…Callen, right?" She smiles broadly, one loan dimple making an appearance. Callen nods, reaching out to shake her hand. She's older than he had thought, traces of grey peaking out beneath her surgical cap, loose curls tied back tightly in a bun at the base of her neck.

"Well, sorry it took so long to get in touch with you all. Tests take a while to get back during nightshift, and I had already finished the autopsy before DNA pinged a match to one of your open cases." She smiles as she crosses the room, indicating a covered body prone on the table. "His name's Ricardo Martinez, out of New Hampshire. Had a couple of run-ins with the law when he was younger—mostly juvie stuff, but he used to be in the Army. Got kicked out for drugs."

The doctor holds up a file, the morgue's emblem emblazoned on the front. "You say you already did the autopsy," Callen asks as Sam looks through the file. "You determine cause of death?"

"Exsanguination," she tells them matter-of-factly, giving them the indication that she's seen a lot of them in her line of work. "Bullet went straight through the neck. Completely missed everything important, though. The odds of that… Poor thing probably would have survived had he been taken to a hospital." She pulls back the sheet, revealing a man in his early forties, a relatively small hole located a few inches beneath his jaw.

"How long ago was he found?" Sam asks, handing the file to Callen.

She purses her lips in thought as she looks to the large clock above the doors, nodding her head as she counts. "About eight hours ago," she deduces with a smile. Sam simply smiles back, thinking this woman gives off a vibe closer related to someone's grandmother rather than a medical examiner.

"It says in the file that you found drugs in his system," Sam asks, remembering what he had read moments earlier.

"Ah, yes. Ketamine," she tells them, tapping on the small chart in the file with a finger. "Small amounts, most likely for recreational use. Judging from what was in his system, I'd wager he used it a day or two before he was killed. Mind you it's a tranquilizer, veterinarians use it on horses and such, but kids these days," she shakes her head and clicks her tongue, a gesture that seems mandatory when using the phrase 'kids these days'. "They use it to get high, a little bit and it acts as a hallucinogen."

Sam nods, looking towards Callen to see whether or not he has anything else to ask.

"Thank you, Doctor," Callen says, closing the file and once again reaching out to shake her hand. Sam imitates his partner's actions before turning and following him out the door, passing the man with the ponytail on the way out.

"So, we've got one man dishonorably discharged from the Marines, another from the Army, and then a third that never even made it into the Army." Sam lists each fact, counting them off on his fingers. "What are we looking at here? A band of military rejects?"

Callen can only shake his head as he runs the facts through his mind. "What if Miller wasn't working alone? What if after his discharge, he teamed up with other disgraced veterans or would-be veterans, and…"

"Started selling military secrets? I don't know, G. That's a little out there."

"Yeah, well its all I got," Callen defends. He reaches for his phone and presses speed-dial. "But maybe Nell and Eric can find a link between our three stooges."

"Hey Callen, whatcha got?" Eric asks, having answered on the first ring.

"I need you to tell me everything you can about a Ricardo Martinez."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Kensi doesn't remember falling asleep. She knows they were tired, borderline exhausted. Deeks had lost a lot of blood, and well, she really hadn't had a decent night's sleep in she doesn't know how long, but taking a catnap while being held captive isn't exactly something she would have suggested doing.

As rough hands lift her to her feet, ushering her across the sodden carpet and through the opened door, she realizes her uncharacteristic snooze fest might not have been her fault. Before the door slams shut, she catches a glimpse of Deeks, his mouth opened wide in sleep as his head rests against the corner of the wall, his arms lying loosely on his folded legs as though he had fallen asleep trying to meditate. The remains of their dinner lie forgotten at his side.

She can feel the heavy pull of the barbiturate, making it difficult to keep her eyes open. When Will's thick accent makes its way past the fog, her mind clears enough for her to figure out she's in trouble.

She looks around the dingy room, realizing they're actually in a mobile home, a singlewide trailer with scarce amount of furnishings. The lone armchair and TV balanced on a cinderblock being the highlight of the living room's décor.

"You probably think you're all high and mighty, don't you, Agent?" Will lets her go, her wobbly legs failing to support her as she falls to the floor. "Special Agent Kensi Blye, NCIS."

She looks up to find him holding her badge, his face twisted in a sneer as he reads her title with disgust. She looks back towards the door of her and Deeks' room. Will had shut it again, the large metallic lock clearly visible even from down the hall.

"Will, man. What the hell you doing?" Kensi sluggishly turns her head. Each moment that passes, she feels a little clearer headed, but as she looks up, it takes a moment for the image before her to focus.

There's a man staring at Will, his arms spread wide in a questioning gesture. "You're not supposed to touch her man." Kensi recognizes him as the unknown voice she's been hearing the last day or so, however long they've been here. She manages to make it to her hands and knees, attempting to crawl towards the new voice, her eyes slowly looking towards the locked door.

"She's the reason Ricky's dead," Will spits out, and Kensi doesn't have to look at him to see that nasty smile.

"I know," says the man, jumping when Will sends his dirty sneaker into Kensi's stomach. "Will!"

"She killed Ricky! Why aren't any of you getting that!?" Will demands, sending his foot into her stomach yet again. "He's dead!" He kicks her again, pushing her onto her back as she struggles to catch her breath. "We dumped his body in a ditch! A ditch, and we're just supposed to let that go? Pretend he never existed?"

He drops to his knee, grabbing a handful of Kensi's hair. "And what about Josh, huh?" Will asks, looking up towards the other man. "He kills one of her buddies and now we're just supposed to let him rot? I thought the whole point of this thing was to get everyone back together. Why's Daniel so important, but Ricky and Josh are just trash? Just afterthoughts to their whole little game?"

"Will man, I get it. You're angry, I know," the man tries to interject, taking a step towards Kensi and Will.

"Do you Gadget?" Will asks sarcastically, pulling harder on Kensi's hair. "Because you're just the computer guy. You don't have to worry about going out there and risking your life, about having your friend drop dead because some stupid bitch got trigger happy!" He slams Kensi's head into the floor, reminding her that it's not the first time her head's been smacked since she's met Will.

"I'm just as much in this mess as you are," Gadget says, his tone shifting from pleading to defensive and angry. "Now Evan and Tino'll be back soon. You really want them to see you messing up again?"

Kensi looks toward Gadget, to the series of laptop's resting on the counter behind him, plastic bags spread out to protect the cords and cables from excess water. She feels Will let go of her hair as he stands. She takes a few shallow breaths, trying hard to get her wind back when she sees it.

Will raises his leg, bending his knee as he prepares to stomp down on the agent's exposed and now bruised stomach. He doesn't take into account the years of training, the adrenaline brought on by an instinctive need to survive, or the sheer determination that makes up Kensi Blye.

She braces herself, tightening her abs as much as her battered muscles and drugged system will allow. As Will's foot comes down, she brings in her knees, blocking the exposed flesh with her shins.

Having not expected her to fight back, the sudden shift in his target causes Will to loose balance. He hops on one leg for a moment, his hand reaching out for the armchair to help him regain his balance.

Were the drugs not in her system, Kensi would have already been on her feet, sending a well-aimed kick to Will's temple. But life isn't fair, and the best she can manage is to rise to her knees, her hand jutting forward to find every man's weakness.

Will screams in pain, his legs giving out as the crazed woman digs her nails into his genitals, her anger evident in the crushing grip.

She can hear Deeks pounding on the door, she can hear his slurred voice screaming her name, but she's been given an opening and she's about to take it. Remembering that there are two men in the room, Kensi awkwardly drops back down to her hands and knees, kicking as hard as she can behind her, her aim being Gadget's stomach.

She's a little off, her foot only finding his knee, but it's enough to have him reaching towards the aching joint, forgetting about her for a few precious moments.

Kensi crawls forward, straddling Will's waist as she grabs his greasy hair, using her fatigued and confused muscles to slam his head into the floor. She can still hear Deeks screaming, the pounding on the door intensifying, beating double-time to the tempo she's following to drive Will's thick skull into the padded carpeting.

It's a sign if how strong the drugs are that she momentarily forgets about Gadget. He sneaks up behind her, snaking his arms around her torso as he pulls her off the still conscious man on the floor. As she sees Will turn to his side, one hand going to his crotch, the other to his aching head, she realizes she hadn't hit him hard enough.

"Get off me!" she screams as Gadget pins her to the wall, using his large size and sober strength against her.

"Stay still!" he grits out into her ear. "I'm not going to hurt you, but you've got to quit fighting me!"

He grabs her wrists and wraps his arms around her, pinning her like a human straightjacket. She tries to kick off of the wall, but she had used up all of her strength already. She's beginning to feel the drugs again, the adrenaline not standing a chance.

As the front door swings open, Tino and Evan walking in, Kensi feels like she wants to cry. She had been given an opportunity, and she had let it go by. Deeks is still pounding on the door, his voice filtering through the trailer.

"What the hell happened? How'd she get out?" Tino's looking back and forth between Will balled up on the floor, and Gadget trying to calm down a struggling Kensi.

"What did he do to her?" Evan asks, already knowing Will's the one to blame.

"Drugged her then kicked the shit outta her, now are one of you going to help me or what!" Gadget says, tilting his head back to prevent his nose from getting broken by Kensi's sloppy attempts at a head-butt.

"Agent, you need to calm down," Evan tells her, stepping over Will, placing a calming hand on shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" she screams, increasing her efforts only to have Gadget hold her tighter.

"We're not gonna hurt you, Agent." Evan tries to soothe her as he holds his hands out in a placating gesture, palms out to show he's being honest. "We're just gonna put you back in your room okay?"

The click of gun causes Kensi to freeze, the only sounds being Will's pained moans, Deeks' continued pounding and hoarse calling of his partner's name, and Kensi and Gadget's heavy breathing as they each try to catch their breath.

Tino points the gun at Kensi's head, and he waits until he's certain he has her attention. "You better listen to Cowboy, sweetheart. You calm down so we can get you back with you little boyfriend." The barrel of the gun shakes as he tries to hold it straight.

Kensi just leans her head forward, her forehead resting against the wall as she takes a steadying breath, allowing Gadget to hold her up.

"Alright, then," Will says after she seems to have calmed down. "Now will someone go shut up Ponyboy so we can get her back where she belongs."

Any other moment, Kensi would have laughed at Tino's nickname for Deeks, but as it is, she's too busy trying to control her emotions, the drugs and pain in her side and stomach making it a difficult feat.

She listens as Evan goes to the door, as he calls out for Deeks to be quiet, for him to back away so they can open the door.

"Where's Kensi?" Deeks demands. She can hear the heaviness in his voice, a combination of worry, fear, and barbiturates.

"She's right here, now back away so we can let her in," Evan says calmly, looking to Kensi for a little help.

She glares at him, hating the whole situation. "Let 'em open the door, Deeks," she says, trying her best to sound strong, hoping to hide the pain she feels. She hopes the drugs have made it to where he didn't notice the shakiness in her voice.

As Evan unlocks the door, Kensi tries to stand up on her own. To his credit, Gadget loosens his grip. He maintains his grasp on her wrists, but allows her to present to illusion that she can walk on her own two feet.

Evan pushes the door in, stopping when he sees Deeks leaning against the wall beside the door, the detective's head resting on the paneling as he glares at the man. "Where is she?"

Evan just pushes the door open all the way, allowing Gadget to escort Kensi inside. Deeks pushes himself up, keeping one hand on the wall for balance as Gadget leans Kensi beside him, making sure her knees will hold her up before letting her go.

"Kens?" Deeks asks, blinking his eyes slowly as he looks his partner over, looking for any clue to what had happened. He had woken to find her gone, angry screaming filtering through the door before the sound of something crashing.

"I'm fine," she tells him, easing down to the ground. She feels the water seep into the butt of her jeans, but at the moment, she doesn't care. "I'm fine, Deeks."

"What happened?" Deeks asks the men, ignoring Kensi's patented catch phrase. "What did you do?"

Evan holds up his hands, indicating innocence. "It wasn't us," he says quickly. "It was Will."

"What did _he _do?" Deeks looks down to Kensi, his heart beating faster with worry as too many scenarios run through his head.

"I'm fine," Kensi repeats, looking up and meeting her partner's eyes. "Trust me."

"He didn't do _that_," Gadget informs Deeks, having read the worried look on the man's face. "Just roughed her up a little, that's all."

"You can go now," Kensi tells them, turning to face them angrily. She realizes it's a little absurd bossing your captors around, but they're making it a little difficult to pull off the whole 'I'm fine' thing.

"Yes ma'am," Tino grins, dipping his head as he ushers Evan and Gadget out the door. "Come on fellas, we got us an idiot to tend to."

Deeks meets Evan's eyes before the door shuts, the former nurse looking worriedly to Kensi before looking back at Deeks.

Deeks gives a small nod, or what he assumes is a small nod, the drugs messing with his sense of perception. The door is shut and the lock put back in place, leaving him alone with his partner.

"Kensi?" he begins again, determined to get something closer to the truth from the woman.

"I said I'm fine," Kensi tells him, her eyes hard as she absently wraps an arm around her stomach.

Still holding on to the wall, Deeks slowly lowers down to his knees so he can get a better look at her and improve his balance all at the same time.

"What happened?" he asks. Kensi watches as the knees of his jeans become saturated, his weight pushing into the carpet, the water soaking into the light denim.

"I think they drugged our burgers," she says with a smile, determined not to discuss what had just taken place.

Deeks leans back on his heels, his hands falling to his thighs, as he smiles back, sarcasm evident with each crinkle around his eye. "You think?"

TBC...


	6. Sinking

Deeks lifts his head off the pillow, frowning when he feels the dried residue of drool prickling along the edge of his scruffy chin. He looks down, noticing a spanse of dark hair trickling onto his pillow.

They had managed to make it back to the drier side of the room before passing out to sleep off the rest of the drugs. He knows Kensi had tried to stay awake, but neither one could fight it. They had taken their pillows and laid them side by side against the far wall, lying down so that the top of their heads were facing one another, their legs stretching out in opposite directions along the length of the wall, a straight line from toe-to-head-to-head-to-toe.

He sits up, pushing himself up on one elbow as he scratches the dried evidence of a heavy sleep from his jaw. Kensi is splayed out on her back, her arms tossed about like she was a rag doll someone had dropped. The edge of her shirt had ridden up in her drug-induced sleep, exposing a flat stomach discolored by deep bruising.

Deeks sits up fully, his eyes never leaving the darkened skin as he forces the fog from his mind. He feels hungover to the tenth degree. His head feels slow, his stomach threatening to rebel. Pulling his knees in, folding his legs to sit Indian style, he leans his head against the wall, letting his eyes trail from Kensi's battered torso to the wild mess of hair taking over two pillows before looking around the room.

The room stinks.

Nevermind the fact that he and his partner have been in here, shower-free for almost two days, if not more, but the carpet has begun to sour, the large amounts of water soaking into the lower layers. He can almost imagine the mold building up beneath the padding separating the carpet from the actual floor.

"Nice," he mutters, his tongue feeling thick and fuzzy against the roof of his mouth. Another bout of nausea forces him to close his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose as he forces his stomach to behave.

The sound of the lock shifting forces his eyes to open. Evan pushes the door open, a gun peeking out from the waistband of his jeans. "You're awake," he says, generally surprised to see Deeks sitting up.

Deeks doesn't say anything, he simply looks suspiciously at the two bowls in Evan's hands. Evan catches Deeks' judging stare, and offers up what he hopes to be a trusting and apologetic smile.

"Don't worry. I made these myself, I promise." He walks a few steps into the room, sitting the bowls down about halfway between the door and Deeks. "Scrambled eggs," Evan explains as he takes a few steps back towards the door. Deeks watches as Evan's eyes travel to Kensi, a frown marring his features when he sees the bruising.

"What did he do to her?" Deeks asks, his voice sounding gravely and deep with sleep and anger.

Evan shakes his head, one shoulder rising and falling in a halfhearted shrug. "I honestly don't know. I got here right when it was over. Gadget had her pinned against the wall trying to calm her down, and Will was practically crying on the ground."

Deeks frowns, trying to line up the picture Evan's just created in his mind with his memory of what he had heard through the locked door the night before. Or day, Deeks really has no sense of time anymore.

"If it makes you feel any better, Will's been sitting around with an icepack on his junk, muttering something about crazy women and castration." Evan smiles, fully aware that the woman had gotten in a few good hits before Gadget stepped in.

Deeks can't help the small laugh. "You know she actually practices shooting targets in the groin?" Deeks' smile broadens at the look of amused surprise on Evan's face.

"I'll keep that in mind." Evan nods back to the two bowls on the floor before pulling the door shut behind him.

Deeks looks back to Kensi, her chest moving in evened, deep breaths. Deciding she needs the sleep, he stands quietly so as not to wake her. He has to lean his back against the wall for a few moments, the muscles in his legs feeling a strange combination of jelly and lead as gravity tries to push him back down.

Feeling as though he has a decent amount of control over his body, he slowly makes his way to the bathroom, not even bothering to look at the two bowls of scrambled eggs, each conspicuously absent of any utensils. Guess Cowboy Evan didn't want to give them any weapons. Deeks laughs internally as he imagines Kensi taking someone out with a spork.

"She'd be the one to do it," he thinks out loud, hissing as his feet meet cold carpet. The water doesn't bubble out as much anymore, but it's still damp enough to soak the edges of his jeans. By the time he reaches the bathroom, he's used to the cold water. Whereas, before the water was almost a half inch deep, it's now only a fraction of that. He looks towards the baseboards, noting the way they've swollen as they've absorbed the excess water, the paint cracking below the saturation line.

He continues to walk towards the toilet, his feet splish-splashing in the shallow water as he goes. He doesn't bother closing the door. Kensi's asleep, and even if she were to wake up, the way the bathroom's laid out, she wouldn't see anything but his back were she to walk in.

He glances upward as he relieves himself, noticing for the first time the cobwebs collecting in the corner. The ceiling is spackled, a generic fixture in most affordable housing. As he finishes, he quickly flushes the toilet, preparing for the sound of old plumbing straining with use.

Stepping away, he feels the floor shift beneath his weight, the boards beneath the tiles weakened by the water. It isn't until he takes another step towards the open door that a thought begins to grow. Kensi had told him they were actually in a trailer, not a house. Judging by what he can see, it has to be a relatively _old_ trailer.

He rocks back, putting his weight on his left foot, feeling the floor shift once again. Listening for any sign that someone might be coming to check on them, he begins testing the floor, smiling with each step.

The areas nearest the fixtures are the weakest, the heavy weight of the toilet weighing down on the dampened floor. But it's the corner that catches his eye. The standing water seems deeper there, even if only marginally. He presses the ball of his bare foot along the edge of the wall, practically beaming when he feels a loose tile.

"Bingo," he whispers, spinning around quickly only to regret the act as his vision doubles and he has to sit on the toilet to gain his bearings. Inhaling through his nose, he calms himself, willing his stomach to behave as he searches the floor for the abandoned Spaghettios spoon Kensi had angrily tossed so many hours before.

It's resting in the water near the tub. Deeks stands and, maintaining his grasp on the sink, he eases to his knees, ignoring the water rapidly soaking the legs of his jeans. He leans forward and grabs the spoon before turning back towards the corner.

He figures the trailer must be on unleveled ground, causing the water to puddle deeper in this particular corner. He jams the spoon in between the loose tile and the wall, working it back and forth like a wedge until he finds success.

He almost cries out when the tile pops loose, revealing a cheap looking sheet of plywood. It's swollen, just like the baseboards. The color a darkened brown, deeper than the yellowish tinge coloring the ones over the windows.

Setting the freed tile to the side, Deeks listens once more, holding his breath as he waits for someone to barge in. When nothing more exciting than a slight snore drifts through the open door, he focuses his attention back to the task at hand.

"Let's do this," he mutters from behind a determined smile.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"Ricardo Martinez, or Ricky as his friends and parole officer called him." Eric stands before the big screen in Ops, a series of photos and documents displayed before him. "Forty-two years old, enlisted in the Army when he was twenty-two, dishonorably discharged two years later for illicit drug use."

Eric grabs a tablet from beside his keyboard, his thumbs sliding across the smooth surface as he readjusts the images on the screen. "Ricky moved out to California about nine years ago," he continues to read, his eyes squinting as he studies the blurred text. "From what we can tell, he was a drifter, never really nailing down a permanent address. There's about four years where we've got nothing. No employment history, bank accounts, driver's license, speeding tickets, the guy didn't even pay taxes. For four years, Ricky Martinez was a ghost."

"Until," Nell picks up, her fingers tracing across the large screen, bringing everyone's attention to a mug shot. "Three years ago when was picked up for assault. He and a friend tried to beat a prostitute's head in."

Callen's standing with his arms crossed, his eyes studying the new image before him. The mug shot isn't of Ricky. "Who's the friend?"

"William McLeod," Nell answers. "Boston Irish and you'll never guess what he has in common with Daniel Miller, Ricky Martinez, and Joshua Greene."

"Dishonorably discharged," Sam guesses, the side of his thumb running along his lower lip, his eyes trained on the large screen.

Eric nods, bringing up a new document for them to see. "Close. He was turned away from the Navy. He couldn't pass his psych exam. Your whole military rejects theory is starting to hold water."

"But to what end?" Sam asks. He walks forward and points at the two photos on the screen. "Why do these two men and Joshua Greene want Miller released? And why go after his wife and kid? It doesn't make any sense."

"We need to find William McLeod," Hetty says, speaking for the first time. "And I think I know how. Mr. Beale, were you able to trace the origin of that text message?" she asks, referring to the message sent to Greene's phone demanding the release of Daniel Miller in exchange for Kensi and Deeks.

Eric's lips tighten to a thin line as he shakes his head. "No, sorry. It was blocked, whoever sent it—"

"Knew what he was doing," Callen finishes, having already heard it before.

Hetty takes a step forward, her finger shaking slowly as she gets ready to divulge her plan. "I think we should send them a response."

"What do you want to send them?" Eric asks.

"Daniel Miller," she says with finality.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Kensi's come to expect her partner to surprise her. Sometimes it's in that annoying _How can you be so immature/selfish_ kind of way. Other times it's closer to an _I can't believe I didn't know that about you_ kind of deal. Right now is neither of those.

Now, it could probably be labeled as _What the hell, Deeks?_

She leans her hand against the doorframe separating the bathroom from the bedroom. Her hair's partially in her face, obscuring all vision from her right eye, her foot hurts from having tripped over a bowl of eggs, and her bladder is screaming in protest at having been ignored for such a long stretch of time.

But here she is, completely speechless as she stares at her partner, watching as he maneuvers a spoon beneath a tile.

"What are you doing?" she asks, her tone tired and quiet. She almost wishes for a camera when he looks up at her, shock and momentary fear evident in his wide eyes. He's sitting on his butt, his legs spread out in a V, his knees partially bent to make room for his extra height in the small space. He looks every part the overgrown kid caught playing in the sandbox.

He obviously hadn't heard her coming, hadn't heard the hiss of pain as she stepped in a plastic bowl full of cold eggs, the would-be meal now trapped between her toes. He had been so focused on whatever it is he's doing, he hadn't been paying attention.

Taking a step into the bathroom, wriggling her toes in hope that the water will wash away the trapped food, she looks at the mess he's created. She counts seven tiles lying in a pile beside the toilet, an eighth soon to be added judging by the position of the spoon in Deeks' hand.

"What are you doing?" she repeats, a little more alert and a lot less accusing.

"Trying to get us out of here," he whispers, his eyes darting behind her, scanning the open door to insure she's alone.

She looks back to the misplaced tiles. "Through the floor?"

"This trailer is old and poorly made," he tells her, turning his attention back to his task. "The water weakened the floor, making it soft, easy to break through."

She's about to ask him whether or not he's lost his mind when she feels the shift of the floor beneath her. It isn't a lot of give, but it's definitely a lot more than was there before.

"You think you can use a break?" she asks, her bladder protesting against the renewed hope she feels at a chance for escape.

"What?" he asks, looking up. She dips her head in the direction of the toilet, bending her knees in, the universal potty dance. "Oh," he says scooting back and grabbing onto the sink to help him stand. Taking the spoon with him, he walks by, closing the door behind him.

Kensi hurriedly tiptoes to the commode, still sluggish fingers fumbling with the button on her jeans. As she sits, finally finding release from the painful and uncomfortable pressure, she closes her eyes in relief, briefly forgetting the craptastic circumstances in which she currently finds herself.

When she stands, every muscle between her ribcage and her hipbones screams in denial. The same had happened when she climbed off the floor from a surprisingly deep sleep. She flushes the toilet before lifting the hem of her shirt, examining the multitude of bruising.

It's pretty impressive, or would be were it on someone else. She can make out the outline of Will's shoe along her side. She presses her fingers to the delicate skin, surprised and grateful the stubborn ass hadn't broken any ribs. She continues to press along her stomach, feeling for any unnatural stiffness or rigidity.

"Okay, are we—"

"Deeks!" she gasps angrily, quickly pulling her shut down as her partner barges back into the room. "What the hell? Haven't you heard of knocking?"

Deeks points his spoon to the toilet, his features taking on a full-blown defensive stance. "I heard the toilet flush."

"So you just thought you'd barge in while I was _still_ in the bathroom?"

"Hey," he says, lowering his voice to keep the conversation private, "I thought we had a plan, remember? Excuse me for thinking you'd want to hurry."

She raises her hands as way of apology, closing the lid on the toilet and sitting down, gesturing to the floor, an invitation to proceed.

Deeks squints his eyes for a moment, battling internally over whether or not he should call her on the bruising he so obviously saw, or on the way she's favoring her right side. Against his better judgment, mostly because he knows his partner too well, he decides to keep quiet, holding out for a later time.

"Evan made eggs," he says, resuming his place on the puddled floor.

Kensi quirks an eyebrow as she wonders if he's actually serious. "I'm good, thanks."

"I don't blame you," he tells her, laughing a little as he works to regain the rhythm he had established earlier. "I don't think I'm eating again until I leave here."

"What I wouldn't do for something chocolaty right now." She brings her feet up off the floor, stretching her legs behind Deeks' back to balance on the side of the tub. "Or fried."

"If you ask nicely, maybe Evan or Tino would get you something," he jokes, knowing the suggestion would bother her.

"It's kind of weird isn't it?" she asks, propping her elbow on the tank of the commode, resting her head in her hand, her fingers running through the matted bed head.

He looks over his shoulder. "What's weird?"

"These guys don't act like normal kidnappers," she tells him. "I mean, yeah they got the whole lock 'em in a room thing down path, but look at everything else. Who tells their hostages their real names? Either those aren't their real names, or—"

"Or they don't plan on letting us go," Deeks finishes quietly, not liking that scenario at all. "And here, Evan was starting to grow on me."

"Either they're all sociopaths and they don't care that we live or die, or they aren't planning on killing us. Does Evan or Tino seem like the type of guy to turn around and kill us?" Kensi asks, sounding a little embarrassed at bringing it up.

"No, not really," Deeks answers honestly. He keeps working, his muscles used to the rhythm by now, they know how much pressure to apply to make the tile pop. He does it on autopilot, freeing his mind to think over everything Kensi _had_ told him before they passed out again.

"What about Eric's Evil Twin?" he asks, remembering her mentioning a man with computers the night before. "What was his name? Gizmo?"

"Gadget," Kensi corrects with a smile and a roll of her eyes, "I don't know. I mean most of it's kind of blurry, you know. But I remember him trying to talk Will out of doing what he did. It may have been out of fear for breaking the plan though, not really out of concern for my well being."

She continues to sit back, her legs stretched out before her, her fingers absently pulling at knots in her hair. She sees the stiffness of his shoulders, that telling muscle twitch in his jaw. The first time she noticed that muscle was the day she met Max Gentry.

"How did you get those bruises?" he asks, purposefully not looking at her.

"It doesn't matter Deeks. I'm fine," she says in a placating tone, hoping he'll let it drop, but knowing he won't.

"Kensi," he says, tilting his head back as he stares at the ceiling like someone who is lost looking for guidance.

"Deeks, I told you I'm fine. He—"

"Will you just stop?" he asks bitterly, his voice balancing between pleading and lecturing, a fusion of anger and concern.

"Stop what?" she asks back tightly, her anger controlled, not liking the way he's talking to her.

"Stop lying to me," he hisses. He lets the spoon drop, turning so he can face her fully, his hands rising, grasping the air like he's trying to milk it for patience, for a way to calm what he's feeling. "I swear, Kensi. It's like you could be bleeding to death, your freaking insides on the outside, and you're still gonna lie to me, you're still gonna feed me that godforsaken line. I'm tired of it." He breathes a heavy sigh, his hands falling to his lap as he shakes his head. "Damn it, Kens. I'm your partner. We're supposed to share this stuff, to look after one another. How can I do that if you won't even let me know exactly how bad you're hurt?"

Kensi sits perfectly still, her chest not even moving as she holds her breath. She stares at him, studying the angry blue as he studies her back. Crossing her arms over her chest, she makes certain to keep her gaze locked on his.

"Will kicked me. I'm not sure how many times, but it was a few." She sees the anger in his eyes change, shifting from being directed at her to a man not even in the room. "He pulled my hair and bang my head on the ground. Just once though," she finishes, quickly, resisting the urge to feel along her scalp for the knot she knows is there.

Deeks continues to stare at her, his breathing slowly evening out as he gets his anger under control. It's a little trick his mom had taught him when he was younger. _Focus on your breathing, Marty._

"How are your ribs?" he asks, his voice purposefully soft.

Kensi shrugs. "Sore, but not broken," she promises. Deeks nods, a little relieved, both that her injuries aren't as bad as he had feared and that she had finally shared.

"Now your turn," she tells him, catching him off guard.

"What?" he asks, generally confused.

"Your turn to share," she tells him, waving a hand in his general direction, indicating his pale complexion, his bloodshot eyes. "How bad are you hurt?"

"I got shot recently," he says matter of factly. "But it's all good. A cowboy gave me a band-aid."

She snorts, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth. She pinches the bridge of her nose, shaking her head as she prepares to call him a hypocrite, but Kensi should know better. After all, she's come to expect her partner to surprise her.

"I'm dizzy a lot," he begins in a more serious tone, his eyes focused on the mangled plywood slowly being revealed from beneath the tiles. "And _really_ tired, but I think that might be from my spiked burger." She watches his Adam's apple bob, the muscle in his neck tensing as he digs the spoon. "My stomach freaking hurts every time I move, I got a killer headache, and my butt's falling asleep."

"Is that all?" she asks quietly, a sad yet thankful smile playing on her lips.

He looks up and to the side, his mouth twisted sideways as he tries to think of something else. "My fingers are turning pruney," he says with a smile, holding up his hand as evidence, his skin wrinkled from the cold water.

"Oh, you poor baby," Kensi says in response, her lips puckering out in false sympathy. "Do you want me to call Cowboy Evan in here and have him kiss it all better?"

"Cowboy Evan can kiss my ass," Deeks smirks, that crooked grin working in full force as he sets another tile to the side. "Because we are getting outta here."

TBC...


	7. Limited Freedom

**The reviews have been beyond amazing. I thank each and every one of you. The reason I haven't been able to respond is because my internet access is limited, please don't think a non-response means I'm not appreciative. I literally do a happy dance every time I read a new one. **

**I'm thinking there's only a few chapters left. Details are already planned, they just need ironed out before I'll know just how many chapters. But I'm thinking of doing one of those 'alphabet challenge' things I've been reading about in other fandoms once I finish "Afterthought". One where each chapter is written from a prompt with the first letter beginning with a different letter of the alphabet-I'm not sure if that was clear. Anyhoo, I've already made a list of the prompts, if anyone wants to do it with me, send me a line and I'll send you the list as soon as I finish this story. **

* * *

"It'll work," Callen reassures his antsy partner. Sam Hanna is the most fidgety Navy Seal Callen has ever met.

"It better." Sam keeps his eyes focused on the scene across the street, one wrist resting on the steering wheel. "Because if not, we're about to let our only leverage go free."

"It'll work, Mr. Hanna." Even though neither can see her, nor she them, both Sam and Callen sit up straighter in their seats at the sound of Hetty's voice in their ears.

"He should be coming out any minute," Nell says, her distracted tone making it clear she's monitoring the prison's surveillance as she speaks.

Callen looks to the door across the street and squints his eyes, waiting for it to open. "Eric?" he says, prompting the tech to walk them through the plan again.

"Prison guard's placed the tracker in Miller's shoe. It's already live and active on our screens. All you have to do is follow him," Eric tells them with an air of confidence. He's in his wheelhouse.

"What if he changes shoes?" Sam asks behind a small smile—a small one because he is generally worried. Eric stutters for a moment as he tries to think of an answer.

"The man is just getting out of prison, Mr. Hanna. I surely hope a change of shoes isn't the first thing on his mind," Hetty says, sparing Eric.

Sam and Callen share a look, a knowing smirk on each of their faces. "Well, I know what I'd want to do," Sam says with a smile, easing back in his seat.

"Speaking of," Callen begins, mimicking his partner's smile, "What about Sherrie Miller?"

Eric clears his throat before answering. "Her and DJ are safe. LAPD have them in custody. The officers in charge have been informed that Miller's being released. They know to keep a look out."

"He's coming out," Nell informs them. Less than two seconds later, the door swings open, a smiling Daniel Miller emerging. He swings his arms wide, dramatically popping his back before sauntering, yes full on Saturday Night Fever sauntering down the street.

"This guy's a handful," Sam says, starting the car and preparing to follow.

"He's an idiot," Callen corrects. "There's no way Miller's in charge. He hasn't got the brains for this. How's he even a threat?" He had meant the question to be rhetorical, but Hetty decides to answer anyway.

"He's a threat, because he knows the right people, Mr. Callen. Now, let him lead you to them."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Deeks flexes his tired fingers, the joints aching from constantly gripping the small spoon. Blisters have started to rub along the length of his palm. He's walking around the small bedroom, stretching his legs, trying to get the circulation flowing again. He wasn't lying when he had said his butt was falling asleep.

He can hear Kensi in the bathroom, taking her turn with the spoon. They had removed twenty-two tiles. That's how many it had taken to clear away an entire sheet of plywood. Now, Kensi's trying to pry loose the nails holding the weakened wood in place. The nails are smaller than the ones used for the windows, but more deeply embedded into the wood, making them difficult to get to. The spoon, bent beyond recognition, has already splintered the wood nearest the corner, the pieces breaking away like a dead tree, crumbling almost like cheese.

Tino had already come in once to check on them, going so far as to give them each a bottle of Gatorade before collecting the uneaten eggs. "Why are you wet?" he had asked Deeks, noting the man's pants were completely saturated.

"Floor's wet," Deeks had answered with an air of nonchalance, silently praying the man wouldn't feel the need to venture into the bathroom. Kensi had been leaning against the wall, playing her part to look the helpless damsel in distress, even going so far as to flinch and wrap an arm around her stomach. Normally, she wouldn't want to appear weak, but giving that her and Deeks had a majority of the bathroom floor torn up, she was willing to do anything to keep Tino from suspecting that something was amiss.

To their relief, he never once looked in the bathroom.

"Kens, you ready to switch," Deeks asks from the bedroom. They've gotten used to speaking in low, even tones.

"I've almost got it," she says by way of an answer, not ready to relinquish control. She hates sitting back and watching, having to wait. That's not the kind of person she is. "Just hold on a sec."

Knowing 'hold on a sec' is Kensi-speak for 'I'm not letting you take this from me', Deeks sits on the edge of the tub, watching as she digs at the wood. She's on her knees, her face inches from the floor. She had pulled her hair back, the loose bun bouncing atop her head with each move she makes.

"I got it," she says, turning to look at him. She's smiling, her eyes wide with triumph and surprise. Obviously, she hadn't planned on it working that fast. Deeks gets on the floor, easing to his knees as he looks at what she's done. She's holding the removed nail in her hand. It's oddly shaped, more triangular than round, a nail designed for putting carpet in place, not for securing floor panels.

"I'm surprised this trailer's even standing," Deeks says, taking the nail and examining it closer. Looking back to the plywood, he notices that all of the nails are shaped the same. "Get back," he says, pulling his shirt over his head and wrapping it around both hands.

"Uh, whatcha doing?" Kensi asks, her eyes scanning his exposed flesh, the little band-aid still in place above his bruised navel.

"I don't want to tear up my hands," he explains. He takes his t-shirt covered fingers and wedges them beneath the sheet of wood on the floor, the missing nail providing just enough leverage to pull the wood back an inch. He changes position, moving so that he's sitting on the floor, his legs before him so he can push against the wall as he attempts to pull up the board. One good pull and he stops, the movement burning his battered stomach muscles.

He takes a deep breath, determined that he isn't going to stop now. As he bites his lower lip, preparing to pull again, movement from behind catches his attention. Before he can turn around, Kensi's beside him, her tank top wrapped around her fingers, her eyes daring him to comment as she leans forward, wriggling her hands into place beside his.

He simply quirks an eyebrow.

She gives him a look that says 'shut up'.

And then they're back to work.

He doesn't bother looking at her, he knows all he'll see are the bruises. Once again tucking his lower lip between his teeth, he pushes with his legs as he pulls with his arms. He hears her grunting beside him, and he suddenly realizes the action's causing her pain as well. The entire act of pulling up a board requires your core, and at the moment, neither of theirs is in top shape.

There's a brief moment where nothing happens, where all that occurs is them pulling. But then there's a give, the sodden wood pulling with them, the too short nails popping out of place.

Kensi brings her hands up, her shirt hiding her mouth as she forces herself not to cry out in victory. They've still got three other sides of the board to clear, but there's a way out. Deeks tilts his head, closing his eyes as he listens to the sounds coming from the other rooms.

Someone's in the kitchen, he can hear talking, something he guesses is a pot or pan slamming on the stove. The TV's on again, and he'll be damned if it doesn't sound like a cartoon playing. When it appears as though no one's any wiser that Kensi and Deeks have just made a breakthrough, literally, Deeks smiles and nods at Kensi.

She smiles back, replacing her hands on the wood and silently counts to three, mouthing the numbers as she goes. On three, she and Deeks both pull again, the pain a little less bothersome now that they know it's worth it.

It's easier to pull now, the nails giving a lot easier with the extra leverage. Five more pulls and the last few nails give, freeing the sheet of plywood, exposing the ground beneath.

Their relief is short lived, when they see the crossbeam blocking their way. The sheet of wood had been lying on top, the beam supporting its weight. There's space on either side, but not a lot. Kensi can easily slide between the beam and the wall, Deeks on the other hand…

"It'll be a tight fit," he says, his t-shirt still balled up in one hand, his bare foot kicking at the exposed beam.

"But you'll fit," Kensi assures him, already pulling her tank top back over her head. "We don't have a choice."

She walks back into the bedroom, putting her ear up against the door before grabbing their shoes. "Come on," she whispers urgently, smiling as she sits on the closed toilet, easing her dried sock over a damp foot. "We've got to hurry."

Deeks follows suit, sliding his feet into his boots, not bothering to tighten the laces. The water's already mostly gone, most of it having drained out the hole when the first few nails pried loose, the rest is either still on the floor or had soaked into Deeks and Kensi's clothes.

"All right," he says with a heavy sigh, pulling his soaked, wrinkled, and bloodied shirt back on, "Lets do this. Brains or beauty first?" he asks with a smile.

"I'm pretty sure that leaves me going first either way," Kensi quips, smiling broadly for the first time in however many days.

"Oh, massive ego's taking the lead." Deeks smiles back, gesturing to the floor and bowing in a very 'Ladies first' kind of gesture. Loud laughter coming through the walls causes them both to still, each holding their breath. They each offer a little smile of embarrassment when the laughter dies down and the distant conversations resume.

Kensi holds on to the sink and the wall as she walks along the beam, bending her knees slowly so as not to loose her balance. With one last calming breath, she eases one leg into the hole, her boot squishing in the mud below. Leaning her weight onto the beam, her bruised torso lying along its length, she brings down her other leg, smiling when both feet are on the none-too-distant ground. Standing up straight, the trailer's floor stops just below her ribcage, giving the illusion that she's been cut in half. Looking at Deeks one last time, she lowers herself the rest of the way, her knees digging into the mud, her eyes adjusting to the sudden darkness, the little sunlight peaking through the skirting of the trailer letting her know it's daytime.

She hears the floor shift above her head. She crawls a few feet away, looking back towards the hole, watching as Deeks' shadow blocks out the bathroom's light.

Deeks flexes his fingers and rolls his neck, stretching out his sore shoulders, the muscles feeling the fatigue brought on by remodeling a bathroom floor. He mimics Kensi's earlier move, walking out onto the beam before bending at the knees and sliding one leg through the opened floor. The hole looked small when it was first made. Now that he's actually in it, it _feels_ smaller than it looked, kind of like trying on a pair of pants and knowing before you pull them all the way up that they aren't going to fit.

He closes his eyes and tries to hold himself up with his arms, not wanting to put any pressure on his stomach by lying across the beam. He stands on his toes as he pushes his back against the wall, purposefully trying to keep his stomach from rubbing against the beam as he attempts to slowly slide down towards the ground.

There really isn't a problem until his ribcage gets in the way, his broad shoulders making a tight fit. His arms are spread wide, one hand placed on the wall, the other on the floor. The beam is pushing against his chest and for a brief moment, he panics. Nothing big, just a few errant thoughts of being stuck, of someone walking in to find him sticking halfway out of the floor, of Kensi getting caught trying to run on her own.

But then he breathes again, and prepares to exhale. He forces all of the air from his lungs in an attempt to decrease his girth, his arms stretched high above his head as he continues to slide to the ground. The beam and the edge of the hole work to push his shirt up, the material gathering under his arms as he turns his head, making sure he doesn't hit his nose on the beam.

He breathes a sigh of relief when he lands on all fours, a breathy laugh escaping as the low lying floor forces him to tilt his head, his extra height working against him.

"Let's go," Kensi tells him, and he can hear the agent in her taking control. The mud gathers beneath his finger nails, oozing between his fingers as he crawls towards the edge of the skirting, a thin ray of light showing them where Evan had pushed it aside to repair the broken pipes. Deeks waits, his heart beating wildly against his chest as Kensi barely pushes the skirting aside, peeking to see if the coast is clear.

It's the first sunlight he's seen in he doesn't know how long, and he swears it's the most beautiful thing he's ever witnessed. Kensi tries to quietly push the skirting the rest of the way, opening it up enough for them both to crawl out from beneath the trailer.

They don't dare stand, once free. There's too big a chance someone will glance out a window and see them. Keeping low, they continue to crawl alongside the trailer, Kensi taking the lead. Twice they hear a car driving by, telling them that most likely, there's a road not too far from this hellhole.

She can see the bronco's taillights peeking out from behind the corner of the trailer. A storage building rests along a chain linked fence, the door lying to the side, the hinges having given up on holding it a long time ago.

Kensi turns and signals to the bronco, her intention being to hotwire it and get the hell out of there before the men inside recognize the sound of their own vehicle leaving them behind. Deeks nods once, not really seeing any other options.

They make it to the driver's side door, Deeks reaching up to the handle, his thumb pressing in, his face frowning. "Damn it."

"What?" Kensi asks, her eyes on the trailer, her ears listening for the front door to open.

"It's locked," Deeks hisses in frustration. He lets his hand drop, allowing Kensi to try for herself, knowing she won't take his word.

She stands a little, still using the bronco for cover as she unsuccessfully tries to open the door. She stands a little more, her eyes peering inside, seeing the lock on both doors in a definitive 'locked' position. Normally, they'd simply break the window, but the sound of glass breaking would alert their captors to their plans, not giving them the necessary time needed to hotwire a bronco from the eighties. She's good, but not _that_ good.

She's about to suggest they sneak out to the road and attempt to wave someone down, when her heart threatens to stop. She sees Evan round the corner, a carefree look on his face, a dark trash bag in one hand. His eyes instantly lock on hers. She hadn't heard anything that would have warned her to his approach. Either the front door was already open, or he was already outside.

"Deeks…" she whispers warningly. She feels him tense beside her as he drops to all fours, looking beneath the car to see Evan's feet standing not three yards away. He rests his forehead to the ground in a brief moment of defeat, a silent 'damn it to hell' breaking through his defenses before he forces himself to stand by his partner.

Kensi continues to watch Evan. He's standing in shock, clearly not having been expecting to find them outside. Licking his lips nervously, he looks towards the direction of the front door, almost as though he's checking whether or not the coast is clear before turning back towards her, pressing his finger to his lips, the universal sign for 'Shhhsh'.

He takes a few steps forward, looking around the back of the trailer, his eyes going to the boarded up window first before falling to the disturbed skirting. "How did you…" he asks, clearly confused.

He turns to face the two escapees, confusion and surprise still dominating his features.

Kensi takes a step back, her shoulder pushing into Deeks' chest. She can feel her pulse beating throughout every point in her body, her heart frantically pumping blood, adrenaline making a much welcomed appearance.

Evan looks to the bronco once before turning back to the trailer. He sighs heavily, his fingers playing with the red drawstring on the trash bag. "The keys are in the trailer," he tells them in what sounds like an apologetic whisper. He looks back to them, jerking his chin towards the storage shed, a playful look overtaking his eyes. "But there are at least three bikes in there."

"Bikes?" Kensi asks, her mind not computing what's happening.

"As in bicycles," Evan clarifies, his hands coming up, imitating holding handlebars. "You know, two wheels, little basket up front. Bikes."

"Why are doing this?" Deeks asks, his hand unconsciously going to Kensi's side, his eyes squinting distrustfully as he continues to stare at Evan. They're each waiting for him to sound the alarm, for him to use the gun they see sticking out from beneath his shirt, for him to give them a clue as to what's going on.

Evan looks back towards the trailer before sighing again, his features screaming 'the gig is up'. "You don't seriously think they were planning on letting you go do you? They'll follow orders without question. All they're worried about is their own good."

Kensi bristles at his honesty, at the confirmation that the plan hadn't included her and Deeks making it out alive. "And what about you?"

"Well, I am too. But I have a different 'good' in mind," he laughs a little, but they can see a seriousness in his demeanor. "You better hurry," he says over his shoulder as he drops the bag into a large trashcan. "Tino's cooking lunch and I think he's planning on giving you some." He gives them a smile, silently wishing them luck before walking back towards the trailer.

"What the hell just happened?" Deeks asks, no trace of joking in his voice. He's still standing beside the bronco, his hand falling from Kensi's side as she rushes to the shed, her eyes searching for the supposed bikes.

"Come on, Deeks. If he wants to give us a head start, lets let him." She moves aside a heavy box and an empty gas can, careful not to make too much noise. She pulls the first bike up, untangling the rusty handlebars from a garden hose as she wheels it out of the shed. "Here," she orders, barely giving him time to catch it before letting go and retrieving a second for herself.

"You know how to ride one of these right?" she asks, climbing onto the seat, waiting for him to do the same.

Deeks doesn't even answer, he just gives another cautionary look towards the trailer before kicking off, pedaling as fast as he can towards the road, praying Cowboy Evan isn't going to round up the cavalry.

"What the hell just happened?" he asks again as gravel turns to asphalt.

TBC...


	8. Hide N' Seek

**This is the point where we all sit back and ask ourselves, "What in the world is wrong with this author?" I promise, anything that isn't answered in this chapter will be answered in the next. I'm going to try and make it one more chapter, but I've been known to stretch it out to two. We'll find out. I'm loving how everyone has an opinion about Evan, and is it weird that I love how SweetLu called this story bizarre? **

* * *

The first few minutes were adrenaline fueled, plain and simple. Deeks is willing to wager that in those first few minutes they easily did three quarters of a mile. Easily. Now, adrenaline's starting to bow down to fatigue, the stress of the last few days, the lack of decent food, water, and the plethora of injuries ranging from a minor bullet hole, bruised ribs, and blistered hands are all starting to take effect.

They're still moving though. If for no other reason than they're too scared that any moment the sound of a bronco with a busted muffler is going to sneak up on them, ruining their little bike ride for two.

"Hold on," Deeks says, stopping the bike and bending to tuck his laces in his shoes. It's the third time he's had to stop in the last thirty minutes, and it's the second time she's turned to look at him with a look that can only be described as pure exasperation.

"Deeks, we don't have time for this." She frowns, but takes the opportunity to rest, standing to give her sore backside a reprieve from the aged seat. "Evan said Tino was going to bring us lunch. He's had more than enough time to play chef and notice that we're missing by now."

"There's a fifty-fifty chance that they'll start looking the other way first, right? You know, go left where as we went right." he points out, standing and balancing himself on the seat once more, keeping one foot planted on the ground.

"Yes, which means there's also a fifty-fifty chance that they'll start looking this way first." She pushes off, ending their brief moment of rest. "You know, go right because we did and our luck tends to suck lately."

"I'm starting to sense a little hostility here, Kensi," Deeks says, his tone belying the resentment he feels. "And I get it, I do, because the whole kidnap escape thing, not fun. But I'd like to point out, once more because you don't seem to have grasped it the first few times I mentioned it, this isn't my fault." He's pedaling alongside her, the front tire of his bike keeping even with the back of hers. "I'm just as unhappy as you are, but you don't hear me bitching about it."

"Actually, I kinda do," she says, throwing back a small smile.

"Alright, I'll give you that one." He matches her smile, "but can we at least agree to not bust each other's balls over this. Well, metaphorically speaking because—"

"Deeks, shut up," Kensi says, interrupting him as she stops pedaling. She turns around, one hand still on the handlebars while the other rests on the back of her seat.

"Sorry, I was just—" he apologizes quickly, realizing the whole 'balls' comment might have been a _little_ inappropriate.

"No, be quiet," she says again, her eyes scanning the road. Deeks stops, his head spinning around as his ears pick up on what she's already heard. The unmistakable sound of an approaching vehicle, a damaged muffler giving it away before it can come into view.

Deeks quickly looks around, the few sparse trees providing no cover. "This could be bad," he keeps his voice low, hoping it will hide the shakiness his nerves produce. They continue to sit, their eyes squinting as the first sign of the truck emerges over the hill.

"That doesn't look like a bronco," Deeks says. His voice is even, but Kensi can still hear the excitement and hope hidden in the pseudo-calm tone. As the truck nears, they notice it's an older model pickup, an old man with a trucker's cap behind the wheel, an equally old dog riding shotgun.

Kensi wastes no time in making up her mind. She quickly steers her bike into the middle of the road, dropping it in the far lane, blocking the man's passage. Deeks looks on confusedly for a moment before following suit, dropping his bike alongside hers.

Arms waving out in front of them, they each wave down the truck, giving him no choice but to stop. "Kens," Deeks whispers as the truck slowly and unwillingly begins to slow in front of them. "This guy looks like he might be a proud card carrying member of the NRA. Let's try not to piss off the guy with a gun, okay?"

Kensi just tosses him a look as the truck finally comes to a stop, the driver eyeing the pair with suspicion. He cracks the window as Kensi approaches the driver's side, her hands held out in front, her face pleading.

"Sir, we need help," she begins, gesturing between herself and Deeks. "Do you have a phone?"

He looks at her for a few more moments, before shaking his head. "Nope, ain't got one." Kensi's shoulders fall, she licks her lips before asking the next question.

"Do you think you'd be willing to give us a ride, to a police station or a hospital?" she asks again, pointing towards Deeks and his bloodied shirt hoping the man will loose the annoyed and distrusting frown he's sporting.

"That's too far away," he begins, his eyes darting back and forth between the man and the woman. "I can take you up the road, drop you off at Brown's. They got a phone you can use, you can call the police from there."

"Thank you," Kensi says, feeling grateful but frustrated at the same time. Why is he so unwilling to help them.

"You two ain't gonna cause me any trouble are you?" he asks before she can turn to move the bikes. "I mean, what are you two caught up in?"

Deeks considers telling the man the truth, that they were kidnapped and now are running for their lives. But something about the man's reluctance to help makes him hold off on that little bit of information.

"We're not going to cause you any trouble," Kensi promises, apparently having come to the same conclusion Deeks had. "We just need a ride, wherever you can take us." She smiles at him, pulling on that inner damsel in distress once again. "Please?"

"You can ride in the back," the man says, pointing towards the bed of the truck with his thumb, "It's just a couple of minutes up the road."

Deeks and Kensi share a disbelieving look, but keep their mouths closed other than to say thank you. They move the bikes to the shoulder before climbing into the back of the pickup, their backs resting against the side as the man presses the gas, the muffler growling as they pick up speed.

Deeks stretches his muddied legs out in front of him, his knees bending as his feet reach the other side of the bed. "You know, the Good Samaritan just isn't what it used to be."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Sam taps his thumb against the steering wheel impatiently, his eyes focused on the rearview mirror. Callen has his elbow propped on the door, his knuckles rubbing along the barely noticeable scruff of his jaw. Every so often, he rubs his brow, his patience waning thin.

"ETA is three minutes," Eric's voice tells them, seemingly sensing their irritation. The car is pulled off the side of the road in what once served as a driveway, the house long gone, the only evidence remaining of the residence being the lone mail box post tilted in the ground.

They're in northern LA County, the landscape offering a sparse tree line as they near the forest, the occasional residential home dispersed along the road. Daniel Miller had taken a borrowed car two hours out of the city, stopping only once to buy a pre-paid phone.

"SWAT better hurry," Sam says when the three minutes doesn't seem to be moving along fast enough. "If Miller beats us to the location, there's nothing keeping Kensi and Deeks alive."

"Unless they keep up their end of the bargain," Eric chimes in hopefully, his tone making it clear he doesn't believe it either.

"Guys?" Nell interrupts. Sam and Callen can imagine the wide-eyed stare she's most likely sharing with Eric. "Sherrie Miller and her son are missing."

Callen sits up in his seat, his elbow falling from its propped position on the door. "What?"

"LAPD called, the officer in charge said she went to put DJ down for a nap but never came out of his room. He went to check on them and they were gone, the bedroom window open," Nell explains.

Sam glances once more to the mirror, a deep blue van coming into view. "How long ago was this?"

"They just noticed, but according to LAPD, she went into the bedroom about half past three."

"That's about thirty minutes after her husband was released," Sam says, starting the car as SWAT pulls up behind, waiting for them to make the first move.

"And only twenty minutes after he bought a phone," Callen points out. "Was there any sign that she left against her will?"

"Nope, just an opened window," Nell tells him.

Callen shakes his head as he checks his gun. "Keep us posted. We're about to go in." He nods once to Sam, indicating its okay to go, that they're ready. Callen watches as the little red dot on the phone remains stationary, a sign that Daniel Miller has reached his destination.

They're less than a mile away, the blue van following close behind, its windows tinted dark, obscuring the driver's features.

Pulling into the driveway, they spot Daniel Miller's borrowed car parked in front of a rundown looking trailer, the back windows boarded up, the skirting pulled away from the base.

"Let's go," Callen says, not even bothering to look at Sam, just trusting that he'll be right behind. Gravel shifts to grass as they hurry to the door, SWAT following soundlessly behind, guns all raised as the car doors remain open.

Sam's the first inside, his hand immediately grabbing Daniel Miller's collar, pushing him against the wall as he tries to make his escape. "Stay still," Sam warns, the barrel of his gun grazing the back of Miller's neck.

Callen looks around the empty room, turning off the TV as he passes. A member of SWAT is cuffing a man in glasses, a series of computers lining the counters, dirty dishes piled in the sink, uneaten plates of food abandoned near the stove.

"Where are they?" Callen asks, looking at the man in the glasses. "Agent Kensi Blye and Detective Marty Deeks, where are they?" The man keeps his eyes trained on the floor as the officer behind him tightens the cuffs. "I asked you a question."

"They're not here," the man says, his breath catching as he's hauled to his feet. "They escaped."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

As it turns out, a 'few minutes up the road' translates to about a half hour's drive. A half hour of bouncing in the back of a truck, an old dog occasionally turning in its seat to bark threateningly through the window, the wind blowing their hair into their faces, the mud drying uncomfortably around their hands, stiffening the material of their now ruined clothes.

Brown's, as the Good Samaritan had called it, turns out to be a gas station; a large sign advertising live bait and hot food hangs above the coke machines. The man steers the truck into the parking lot, tapping on the back window with his knuckles. "Here you are," he says, opening his door enough to spit before slamming it shut again. He doesn't say anything more as Kensi and Deeks climb out.

"Thanks man," Deeks tells him, only to be ignored as the muffler sounds the man's departure. "Okay?" Deeks says, turning to look questioningly at Kensi.

"He probably thinks we're a couple of serial killers or something," she says as she walks towards the store's entrance, jokingly trying to find a reason to justify the man's odd behavior. "Probably killed a guy and then buried his body in the mud."

"Yeah, because that's _so_ much more believable than the truth," Deeks pushes the door open, a small chime alerting the cashier to their entrance. Deeks can see the bored expression of the teenager morph into one of concern. As he and Kensi approach the front counter, Deeks realizes that the concern is most likely for the teen's own safety as opposed to the well-being of the two strangers that just walked in.

_What is wrong with people here?_ Deeks thinks to himself, keeping quiet as he once again lets Kensi take the lead, feeling as though she'd have better luck calming the young boy.

"Can we use your phone?" Kensi asks shyly, keeping her voice soft, her smile bright. "We need to call for help."

"Um…" the boy says, looking back and forth between Kensi and Deeks. His eyes take in the beyond dirty clothes, the obvious blood stains on Deeks' shirt, the oily wind blown state of their hair.

Deeks pinches the bridge of his nose, a small breathy chuckle breaking free as he shakes his head in disbelief. He gets it, he really does. He'd probably be a little freaked if two people walked in off the street covered in blood and other questionable stains, but he'd at least give them the benefit of the doubt. Yes, he'd keep his guard up, but he'd at least let them use a phone without having a brain aneurism trying to think it through first.

Taking a step forward, his shoulder not so gently brushing against Kensi's as he slams his hand against the counter, Deeks reaches behind the canister of beef jerky and grabs the phone from the receiver. The teenager backs up, his legs hitting the small stool behind the counter. "Hey!" he says indignantly as Deeks proceeds to ignore him.

"Listen," Deeks hears Kensi say as he dials the familiar number. He can tell from her tone that she's attempting to calm the boy, to make him see reason.

"Hello?" Eric's frown can be heard through the phone as he answers the unknown number.

Deeks wants to laugh in relief. "Eric, it's Deeks."

"Dude, where are you? Is Kensi with you, are you okay?" Eric begins to rush the questions, his excitement and worry palpable even over the phone.

"Deeks." Kensi's stern voice causes him to look up, the phone still held to his ear, Eric's voice still demanding questions through the line. She's looking out the window, her face stern, the worry of the teen behind the counter long forgotten.

Deeks turns, already knowing what he'll see. He can hear the muffler, and for a whole two seconds, he prays it's the old man coming to fill up on gas and buy some beef jerky. But the sight of the bronco pulling into the parking lot cuts all hope in half. His eyes meet Tino's through the glass door, and he knows they're busted.

"Eric, I need you to trace this call and get help here as fast as you can." Deeks doesn't wait for an answer. He just sits the phone on a shelf, the line still connected as he hides it behind a bag of Doritos. He takes a step closer to Kensi as they watch three of their former captors climb out of the bronco, Evan among them.

"So much for our head start," Deeks mutters.

"Do you have a gun behind the counter?" Kensi asks the teenage cashier, ruining all the hard work she had put into calming him earlier.

"What? No, I don't have a gun." His voice is shaky, a little high pitched as he watches the men approach the door, two of which are holding a gun in their hands, the third talking on a phone. "I've got a baseball bat though."

Deeks almost laughs at the thought. The idea of trying to defend one's self against a couple of guns with a baseball bat is beyond absurd, but he keeps his thoughts to himself as the door opens, the chime once again sounding through the small store.

"You two are sneaky," Will taunts as he steps inside, Tino not far behind. Evan is still outside, his cell phone to his ear as he watches his two accomplices through the glass door before letting his eyes lock with Deeks'. "Regular Steve McQueen's."

"Imagine our surprise when we walk in to check on you two and you're not there," Will continues, the gun lazily pointing back and forth between Kensi and Deeks. "Now, I saw the bathroom, so I know how you got out. What I'm wanting to know is, how the hell did you get all the way out here?"

"We ran," Deeks says with a smirk as Evan walks through the door, the chime sounding for the third time. "Don't know about my partner here, but I did a little track in high school, some cross-country—"

"Is he always like this?" Tino asks Kensi, interrupting Deeks' ramblings.

"Pretty much," Kensi answers honestly. Her back is pressed against the counter, her hands held out in front of her, a gesture she seems to be doing a lot lately. She flinches, covering her head as she instinctually steps towards Deeks when Will raises his gun and fires behind the counter.

The bullets hit their mark, digging into the wall, sending an entire shelf's worth of Marlboros to the floor. The cashier stops his slow retreat to the back of the store, his eyes wide in fear as Will's warning sinks in. "I'd sit tight if I were you kid," Will tells him with a deceiving smile. "We're only after these two. Why don't you just turn around, and keep you eyes on the wall, huh?"

The teen nods, his hands shaking as he does what he's told.

"Daniel's been released," Evan says, pushing the door back open. "Everything's done, we're all to meet at the shop."

Tino raises his gun, smiling politely as he takes a step back, clearing a path between Kensi, Deeks, and the door. "Come on you two. Lets play nice so the kid back there can live to see puberty." Deeks and Kensi share a look, tossing one last hopeful glance towards the Doritos bag and the hidden phone before slowly following Evan to the bronco.

As they climb into the back seat, Deeks can't help wishing he had the cashier's baseball bat.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Callen had been standing in the doorway, his feet balanced between carpet and what's left of the bathroom tile when Eric broke through his quiet observations, telling him about a phone call from Deeks, about gun shots and a boy named Kyle screaming into the phone about three lunatics with guns and an old truck.

He'd seen the bloody towels and Kensi's vest lying on the floor, a couple of pillows and blankets lying side by side. Two empty water bottles, a couple of untouched Gatorades, and two cups that smell strongly of Spaghettios and peaches were all that was left in the bedroom. While he wishes like crazy that Kensi and Deeks had been in the small room, he had felt a sense of pride when he found the small, mangled spoon lying amongst the ruins of the bathroom's floor. That was until Eric's news had come, until Sam had walked in two seconds later, Daniel Miller's recently purchased phone in his hand, a text message highlighted on the screen.

_All clear. Meet shop ASAP._ The number had a Los Angeles area code.

"None of this makes any sense," Callen says for the third time as they fly down the highway trying to make up for lost time. He looks back to the screen of his phone, waiting for it to light up, for Eric to tell them from where the text was sent, where the phone is now. "If you were Sherrie Miller, and you knew that someone working with your husband had tried to kill you and your son, why would you run away the minute you're told your husband's been freed?"

"You wouldn't," Sam tells him, his eyes never leaving the road as he tests the accelerator's resistance.

Callen grabs hold of the door handle as he feels the car pick up speed. "Unless you wanted your husband to get out. Sam, Sherrie Miller wasn't the target."

"What do you mean?" Sam asks, risking taking his eyes off the road long enough to glance at his partner.

"Conner was sitting two feet from DJ Miller. If the sniper was really after him or his mother—"

"He'd have had a clear shot," Sam finishes, finally catching on.

"Exactly. They weren't the target, NCIS was," Callen says, his anger increasing as the pieces start to fall into place. "It would explain the ambush, why the other team was lying in wait for Kensi and Deeks. They wanted Daniel Miller released from prison, they _needed_ someone for a trade." He shakes his head in disbelief, wanting to laugh in self-disgust when he remembers trying to comfort a distraught Sherrie Miller.

But then his phone lights up, a text message from Eric. "Guys, GPS is sent to your phones, text came from a pre-paid about forty-five minutes from where you are now," Eric says into comms.

As Sam once again applies pressure to the accelerator, Callen has no doubt that they'll make it in less than forty-five.

TBC...


	9. Calling it Even

**One more chapter to go after this. To everyone who has been wondering about Evan...**

* * *

A pale blue Prius isn't exactly what Deeks had in mind when he was visualizing the mastermind's vehicle of choice. But to be fair he also hadn't considered it coming with a booster seat or an array of happy meal toys spread across the dash.

They follow Tino into the 'shop', which turns out to be nothing more than a large garage, an abandoned service station with outdated vending machines and light fixtures. Will is close behind, his gun happily pointing towards Kensi's back.

Deeks had been joking when he first began to compare their captors to the seven dwarves, but now he's starting to think it was a pretty accurate description, especially seeing how Snow White's awaiting their return.

Sherrie Miller is standing against what once served as a service counter, her light brown hair pulled back in a high ponytail, her ankles crossed lazily in front as her elbows lean against the high counter's top.

Daniel Junior sits on the floor, a small backpack featuring a picture of the Hulk is opened before him, several toys decorating the space around him. He looks up when the door is opened and Kensi and Deeks are led in. In all his childlike innocence, he waves, using his whole arm as he does so.

"Hi Marty," he says, two full rows of baby teeth showing as he smiles, recognizing the detective from a few days back.

"Hey, DJ," Deeks says in return, forcing enthusiasm as he tries to grasp exactly what's going on. Last he checked, Sherrie and DJ Miller were in protective custody because Will and the gang were trying to kill them. But one look at Snow White's face, and Deeks realizes he's missed a step or two. "What are you doing here, buddy?"

"I came with Mommy," the little boy says, his small face scrunching up as though he's just noticing something's wrong. "Why are you all dirty?"

"Oh, we were playing outside," Deeks tells him as he looks down at his dirty clothes and hands, resulting in a small snort from Tino.

"I got to ride in a police car!" the little boy exclaims, holding up a drawing of what can only be described as a five-year-old's creative interpretation of a police cruiser.

"Yeah, kid. So did your dad," Evan says, pushing the door shut and stepping out from behind the line of people. To both Deeks and Kensi's surprise, DJ's smile only grows as the little boy jumps up, picture still in hand and full on runs towards Evan, wrapping his arms around the man's legs. Evan only grins as he ruffles the kid's hair.

"Evan, grow up already," Sherrie Miller says, reaching into the bag on the counter and retrieving a gun. Evan eases DJ back towards the pile of toys and the Hulk bag as Sherrie's eyes focus on the two captives. And that's when realization hits Kensi full on in the face.

Sherrie's eyes are a deep brown, somewhere between an almond shape and round. Her features are feminine but definitely familiar. She's been saying all along that Evan reminded her of someone, now that she's looking at them side by side, the family resemblance is hard to miss.

"You're brother and sister," Kensi says aloud, looking back and forth between the man and woman. Sherrie sneers as she looks to the man standing in front of her son.

"_Half_ brother and sister," she corrects before turning her attention to the two men standing behind Kensi and Deeks. "Who's the idiot that doesn't know how to follow orders?" Sherrie asks, looking pointedly from Will to Tino.

Will scratches nervously at the back of his neck, a dead giveaway to his guilt. "In my defense," he begins, trying to placate the woman before him, "we got there too late, that other guy had already passed by the time me and Ricky had set everything up."

Sherrie shakes her head, like a teacher preparing to lecture a disobedient child. "Imagine my surprise when Sam Hanna walks through the front door, promising me that everything's going to be okay. Then, as further proof that I have nothing but complete dumbasses working for me, I later find out that Ricky went and got himself shot and Josh shoots a fucking agent in the head, right in front of my damn kid."

DJ, recognizing that attention's been drawn to him, takes a step further behind his uncle's leg, his hand grasping at the material of Evan's jacket. Sherrie takes another step closer to Will, the top of her head coming even with his nose. "You want to explain to me what it is about Barbie and Ken here that you confused with a six foot four black Navy Seal?"

"What did you want with Sam Hanna?" Kensi asks. Deeks resists the desire to elbow her in the side for drawing attention back to them, mainly because his own curiosity is peaked.

Sherrie Miller turns towards the duo, her frown growing as she looks them over. She taps her well-manicured trigger finger along the gun's side a few times while she considers whether or not she wants to tell them.

"My husband, while being a lovable guy, is a complete moron," she begins slowly, giving Kensi the impression that this woman loves the sound of her own voice. "All he had to do was follow orders. Easy as pie, right? Wrong. The idiot goes and gets arrested, leaving me high and dry. So I start thinking to myself, what can I do to get him back? I mean, it's not like I can just sneak him out of a federal prison. I needed a good solid plan."

She sits on the edge of the table, her feet dangling several inches above the floor as she continues her story. "So when you all left my house with everything you needed after executing your little search warrant, I had one of my men find out everything he could about each and every one of you."

Kensi shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot as she remembers the few computers she had seen at the trailer. She assumes Gadget is the 'man' Sherrie had look into each of them. Deeks had it right when he had called the man Eric's Evil Twin.

Sherrie smiles, her pale lips parting to reveal abnormally white teeth. "In case you haven't learned already, the plan was to take a hostage, trade one good man for another. You and your little boy toy here," Sherrie says, pointing to Kensi and Deeks with the gun, "You two, while both having impressive careers, you're still kinda new to this game. But your friends…well, their resumes are a little more impressive."

"Uncle Evan, I gotta go to the bathroom," DJ whispers, the 'th' in bathroom pronounced as an 'f', causing the word to be sound more like 'bafroom'. Sherrie throws an exasperated look towards her son, obviously annoyed at the interruption. Evan simply bends and picks up the child, shushing him as he carries him towards the back room.

"As I was saying," Sherrie continues, that fake smile making a comeback, "Special Agents Callen and Hanna seemed to be a little higher up the food chain than the pair of you. We just had to get them to come back. A few well-placed bullets through the front door, and you all came running to the rescue, promising a safe house until the whole mess could be sorted out. It was perfect."

"So you set up the attacks on you and your son, it was a ploy," Deeks says, not believing his ears. Sherrie just shrugs, obviously pleased with her plan. "But why Sam? Why not Callen?" Deeks asks, earning another devious grin from the deranged woman.

"Agent Callen had too much unknown," she explains. "Gadget couldn't even read half the stuff in his file. But Agent Hanna, well, who better? I mean, a decorated Navy Seal with ties to multiple agencies, that's like a nice big present with an extra fancy bow, an All-American hero. He'd be perfect for the trade. Although, I do have to admit, you two worked out just fine as well."

"So I didn't screw up after all," Will sneers from his spot in the corner, sounding more and more like a petulant child.

"No, you still screwed up Will," Sherrie corrects him, standing from the table and slowly walking back towards him. "I think the Navy had it right when they turned you down. You don't play well with others, Will. You never follow orders." As soon as she's two feet away, she raises her gun, firing two shots straight into Will's chest. "And that just won't do."

"Sonuvabitch!" Tino screams, jumping back, raking a shaky hand through his thinning hair. "What the hell d'you do that for?" He takes a step back as Will slumps to the floor. Evan runs through the door, his gun raised, his eyes taking in the scene before him with forced detachment.

"To teach a lesson, Tino," Sherrie says calmly, perfectly at ease having a dead body lying at her feet. "I'm sick of you rejects disobeying orders."

She takes a small step back as the blood begins to pool, acting as though it'd be an inconvenience to have blood on her sneaker. "We got lucky this time, but it won't always be that way. Go ahead and start cleaning this up," she says, waving towards Will's body and the increasing amount of blood. "As soon and Daniel and Gadget get here, they can help you get rid of the bodies."

Kensi feels Deeks tense at the mention of the word 'bodies' and its notably plural usage. Her eyes begin to dart around the room, desperately looking for something they can use, something that will get them out of this alive.

"Where's DJ?" Sherrie asks, looking to Evan and noticing the absence of her son.

"He's in the back," Evan tells her, his eyes hard. "He doesn't need to see this."

"How thoughtful of you," she responds with a roll of her eyes. "Go ahead and get all his stuff together, we'll leave as soon as Danny gets here."

"It's already done," Evan assures her, giving his first true smile since arriving. Sherrie glances to the toys still resting at the foot of the counter, frowning as she turns back to her brother.

"What are –" She stops whatever it is she was about to say when a flash of light catches her attention, the sun reflecting off a smooth surface out the window. She goes forward and opens the door, fully expecting her husband to be standing outside. After all, it's been a while since she texted him, letting him know where to meet her.

Deeks watches as Evan takes a step back towards the room he had just exited, the one where he had left the little boy. For a brief moment, their eyes meet, Evan gesturing towards Will's body, the gun lying amongst the blood and grime on the floor. As Evan continues his slow movements to the back, Deeks begins his to the side, carefully moving so as not to attract attention.

Kensi keeps perfectly still, her brow furrowed as she tries to figure out what Deeks is doing, but trusting him nonetheless. She sees the room light up with sunlight as Sherrie pulls open the door, nothing more than an empty parking lot meeting their eyes.

Deeks is only a few feet away, two more steps and a pretty good sized leap will get him there, giving him the gun and a chance to get out of this alive. The only problem being Tino standing in the way, his eyes a mixture of emotions as he looks at the dead body before him. Anger, confusion, fear, distrust. Honestly, Deeks doesn't blame him.

Sherrie slams the door, and turns back around. Her cocky smile is gone, a deep wrinkle forming between her eyes as she once again taps her finger against the gun. "Something's wrong," she says, just before a creak outside causes everyone in the room to freeze.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"Mr. Callen, if you're right, then that means there is a little boy in the middle of all this mess." Callen nods in agreement as he imagines the serious look on Hetty's face. They're close, just a few minutes out now.

"He's been in the middle since the beginning, Hetty," Callen tells her, unbuckling his seatbelt as they near the property, the destination on the GPS coming into view. Sam slows down, pulling the car to the side of the road and killing the engine, hoping no one inside is any wiser to their presence.

Callen reaches forward, opening the glove box and removing the extra gun. "Deeks and Kensi are going to be unarmed. Hopefully, they'll know to get the boy and get out of the way."

"Be careful, gentleman," Hetty says with finality, her personal way of wishing them good luck. "Now, go get our friends back."

Callen looks to Sam at the same time Sam looks to Callen. Mirror images of determination. They open the car doors, slowly easing them closed as they begin walking towards the old garage. The windows are caked in dirt, stained and weathered by the elements and time.

Little clouds of dust stir up with each step they take. Loose boards lay across the ground below the front of the building, plastic signs advertising various brands of fuel filters, and the importance of regular oil changes.

The sound of the door opening forces both men against the side of the building, each holding their breath as they wait for someone to walk through the door, for someone to realize that they're standing less than ten feet away.

But it never happens. The door closes and they each breathe a heavy sigh of relief.

Sam squeezes his partner's shoulder, letting him know he has his back as Callen once again takes the lead. He carefully puts one foot in front of the other, distributing his weight from the heel to the toe, careful and stealth, just like he was trained. But no amount of training can compensate for bad luck.

One small step, an even smaller creak, but that is all it takes. All sounds of movement both inside and out stop. And then they start up again

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

As soon as Sherrie fires the first few shots, shattering the window, Tino takes cover behind the counter, his gun shaking in his hand. With Tino out of the way, Deeks takes the opportunity to reach for Will's abandoned gun, turning in time to see Callen run by the opened window.

Deeks looks around for Kensi, finding her taking cover behind an overturned table. Seeing Evan turn and flee towards the back room, Deeks follows, grabbing Kensi by the elbow and ushering her in.

It's a small hallway, only two doors on either side. One's a bathroom, the other a small office—a nice desk, some empty bookshelves, and an opened door leading to outside, a broken 'EXIT' sign hanging by one screw overhead.

"Stay here," Deeks says, earning a very indignant scowl from Kensi. He sees that one eyebrow arch high, her head tilt back in that 'how dare you' kind of way she's more than perfected, and he knows she's readying for an argument, so he interjects before she can.

"Kens, we've got one gun. That's it. Just please stay here. Please?"

She looks to the opened door before glancing back from where they had just come. "Be careful," she tells him, pressing her body against the wall so she can keep an eye out should Sherrie or Tino decide to follow them.

Deeks silently thanks her, nodding his head once before raising his gun, and stepping outside.

"Evan. Stop." He says calmly, more calm then he thought he was capable of. Evan stops, DJ still in his arms, the back door to a dark sedan open, and Deeks is willing to bet there's a booster seat already buckled in.

Evan looks at the gun in Deeks' hand before closing his eyes, his chin resting atop his nephew's head. Gunshots can still be heard coming from the front of the building, but both men stand quietly, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

Evan slowly nods, the hand he had been using to rub calming circles on DJ's back raises placating, showing Deeks that he has no intention of doing anything stupid. Very slowly, he bends his knees, lowering DJ to the ground before placing his hands on either side of the boy's face.

"Listen kiddo. I need to talk with the detective okay?" he tells DJ in a calming tone. "I need you to get in the car, and I want you to lay down in the floor okay?" When the little boy nods, Evan stands and gives the boy a small shove towards the opened door. As soon as the two little Scooby-Doo sneakers disappear into the car, Evan shuts the door and turns back to Deeks, both hands raised, palms out.

"Are you going to shoot me, Detective?" Evan asks, keeping his voice low so DJ won't hear.

"I don't want to," Deeks tells him honestly, though he doesn't lower his gun. "Why are doing this? Why the hell would you bring a kid into all of this?"

"I didn't!" Evan snaps, showing the first sign of emotion, the first sign of anger that Deeks can remember seeing since meeting the man. "I'm getting him _out_ of this."

Evan rubs his hands down his face, turning to look towards the back seat before turning back to Deeks, an angry hand pointing towards the distant gunfire. "_This_ is not something a little boy should have to live through. He's barely five years old, and yet he's used to hearing gun fire, he's used to seeing his mom and dad dispose of bodies, he's used to being treated like an inconvenience."

Deeks keeps the gun raised, but his eyes dart to the car, his eyes searching for the hidden little boy.

"The very first time I saw him," Evan says, wiping away an angry tear with the palm of his hand, "he was three years old. Do you know what happened that day? Do you know what I saw that made me realize that my sister is a sorry excuse for a mother and an even worse excuse for a human being?"

When Deeks makes no move to answer, Evan continues. "That little boy had a cast on his arm. Daniel had gotten mad because DJ was crying, so the bastard picked him up by the elbow and threw him across the room. Sherrie didn't even blink. Her husband had just tossed her son across the room, and she was upset because she had to take him to the hospital!"

Evan's long forgotten about keeping his voice down, his anger breaking through.

"Why didn't you turn him in?" Deeks asks, his voice shaking as memories of his own childhood begin to surface, as his anger with Daniel and Sherrie Miller begins to grow. "Why not take him before, why now?"

"Because I didn't have anywhere to go then," Evan says in defeat, his hands falling to his sides. "If I had reported it, DJ would have been put in the foster system, and I…I couldn't let that happen. So I decided to stick around, keep an eye on him. Help my dumbass sister and her deadbeat husband recruit men for their little scheme." Evan makes a noise halfway between a sigh and a disgusted laugh. "You know, Will, Ricky, Gadget—all of 'em. They're basically just mercenaries. Lowlifes doing whatever Sherrie tells them to. They only care about themselves. About their own damn good."

Deeks licks his lips as Evan's words jog his memory. "You said earlier that you were after a different 'good'. Is he the good you were talking about?" he asks, pointing towards the car and the little boy no doubtfully hidden in the floorboard, safe from any stray bullets.

Evan follows Deeks' gaze, a few more tears breaking through. "He deserves better than that," Evan says thickly, his hand absently gesturing towards the front of the building.

"I agree," Deeks admits, his gun shaking with nerves and indecision.

"So what now?" Evan asks.

Deeks stares at the man a few tense seconds, the sound of gunfire ceasing in the distance. Deeks lowers his gun and turns to go back inside.

"You're just gonna let us go?" Evan asks, confusion and hope plainly coloring his voice.

"No," Deeks tells him, looking back over his shoulder. "But you gave us a head start. Consider us even."

As he steps inside the small office, he meets Kensi's eyes, both mismatched orbs rimmed red as she stares back. Neither move as they hear a car door slam, an engine revving as tires speed away.

Deeks keeps waiting for her to say something, for her approval or condemnation, but she simply stares.

"Deeks! Kensi!" Callen's voice breaks through the silence.

"Where good!" Kensi yells back, nodding once to Deeks before turning and walking away. Deeks rubs his hand across his mouth, turning to look once more at the now empty back lot before following his partner to the rest of the team.

Deeks follows her to the front of the shop, the walls riddled with bullets, the toys and crayons forgotten on the ground. Sherrie Miller lies dead in a pool of blood, her foot lying haphazardly across Will's leg.

Tino is bent over the counter, Sam angrily tightening the cuffs as he looks towards his approaching teammates.

"Where's the little boy?" Callen asks, looking behind Kensi and Deeks, expecting to see a small little head peak around the corner. "And the other guy? He secured?"

"They're gone," Deeks says, laying the gun on the counter. "He got away."

Callen frowns looking back and forth between Deeks and Kensi. "What do you mean he got away?"

"I'm pretty sure there's only one way to define the phrase 'he got away'," Deeks tells him, his emotions still not fully in check. Kensi, sensing as much, steps forward, one hand resting softly on Deeks' arm as she looks to Callen.

"They were in a dark sedan. We didn't catch the make or model," she tells Callen.

"Are you two okay?" he asks as he looks them over, his relief at seeing them alive waning as he takes in their appearances.

"We're good," Deeks tells him, finding it hard to look anyone in the eye after basically letting a kidnapper go.

"Eric, we need an ambulance to our location, and issue an Amber Alert for DJ Miller," Callen says, using his finger to adjust the earwig in his ear. "Suspect was driving a dark sedan."

"We don't need an ambulance," Deeks says quickly, Kensi nodding in agreement.

"Drop it Deeks," Sam says from across the room. "We've been finding your blood all across the county. Your ass is getting checked out."

Not really seeing a good argument against Sam's logic, Deeks simply nods in agreement. It isn't too long before the sound of sirens for the long overdue backup can be heard. Kensi and Deeks each stand out of the way, allowing the medics to look them over, giving as much information as they can to help improve the Amber Alert, generally just watching as Sam and Callen take control of the scene.

"Deeks?" Kensi says once they're both in the back of the ambulance, each sitting comfortably on the side bench as the medic drives them to the hospital.

"Yeah?" Deeks says in return as he uses his thumbnail to scrape off dried mud from his hands.

"Are you okay?" she whispers, her eyes occasionally darting to the driver, checking to see if he's listening.

"I'm fine," Deeks says, his eyes still focused on the muddy mess.

"I thought we agreed we couldn't pull that card anymore," she tells him, smiling when he gives a small laugh.

He looks up, a playful smirk making a comeback as he meets her eyes. "Do you want an inventory of all my aches and pains, because I gotta tell ya, that bicycle seat wasn't too comfy."

"You know what I mean, Deeks." She lets the smile fall, her eyes pleading for sincerity.

"I know," he whispers. "I'm just not ready to talk about it yet, okay?"

Kensi nods, tucking her lower lip in between her teeth. "Okay," she tells him, "But when you are…"

"You'll be the first to know," he promises.

TBC...


	10. For the Record

**Wow. 105 alerts to this story, 24 favorites, and 94 reviews. That is the most feedback any story I've written has generated (proportionately). I thank each and every one of you. I really was worried for a while there, but people turned out to like Evan, so my worries were for naught. This was all planned out from the get-go, I'm not sure how I feel about it, but I'm horrible at wrapping things up. I find it easier to just keep going, BUT I'm not going to do that with this. This is the end, just a little wrap up, after the fact. The story actually ended last chapter, but this just sort of adds a little bow on top.**

* * *

Callen walks through the doors to find Hetty waiting for him, her hands crossed behind her back, and he can tell that she's reading him. He inhales deeply as he meets her eyes, slowing his pace as he adjusts his grip on the bag in his hand.

He lifts the bag, resting it on the corner of his desk as he prepares for Hetty's version of a debriefing. "How did you know that I'd come back tonight?" he asks, leaning against his desk, his arms automatically folding across his chest.

"Because I know you, Mr. Callen," she answers with a smile. She looks to the large monitor stationed behind Deeks' desk. The screen is off, but he knows that earlier, images of DJ Miller and Evan Hudson had been shown continuously on every news station. "Did they make it home okay?" she asks, and he knows she's asking about Kensi and Deeks.

"Yeah, Sam's dropping Deeks off as we speak." Callen looks down at his feet, his tongue worrying his lower lip as he weighs his options. "You know don't you?"

She turns back towards him, her eyes wide with feigned ignorance. "Know what, Mr. Callen?"

"That he let them go." He watches as she skillfully schools her expression. If he hadn't known her for so long, he might have missed that little tell, that subtle way she closes her mouth, or the way the wrinkles around her eyes tighten when she knows she's been caught.

"From what I hear, Evan Hudson and DJ Miller got away, they weren't let go." She says it with a small smile, a slight tilt to her head.

Callen nods, returning her smile as he rubs tiredly at the back of his neck. "You know DJ Miller was being abused?"

Hetty nods, her smile turning sad. "Yes, Eric showed me the hospital records."

"So you also know that the abuse slowed once Evan Hudson came to California?" Callen continues, already knowing the answer.

"It seemed pretty obvious that the hospital visits began to decline in frequency about two years ago, yes. But can I ask why you're bringing this up?" Hetty takes a step back and leans against the edge of Deeks' desk, her eyes looking up as she studies the man in front of her.

Callen looks towards the darkened window, glancing around the empty office, only he and Hetty remaining this late at night. "They were with them for almost three days," he begins, his eyes purposefully avoiding hers. "According to their statements, Evan Hudson helped them escape."

"And you think Mr. Deeks and Miss Blye were returning the favor and helped Evan Hudson escape?"

"Officially, I think Hudson got away," Callen says, finally meeting her eyes. "But hypothetically," he continues, "If they were to have let them go, I think Deeks did it to help DJ Miller not Evan Hudson, and Kensi did it to help Deeks."

Hetty straightens her posture, her head slightly tilting back as she continues to look at her agent. "And why do you think they would do something like that?"

Callen doesn't answer. They both know why they did it, and if Callen is being perfectly honest, he can't say he'd have done anything different. Daniel Miller is going to prison, Sherrie Miller is dead. The only place for DJ would have been foster care, and Callen knows first hand what that's like.

He pushes the bag farther onto his desk. "Like I said, _officially_ Evan Hudson got away. There's nothing more for us to do other than to let the FBI handle the kidnapping case."

"I think that's a wise decision," Hetty tells him.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

The fridge is open, the cool air causing goose bumps to rise on his arms. Deeks lazily runs a towel over his hair as he tries to determine if there's anything worth eating in his apartment. So far, he's come up with a couple of poptarts, and a box with what used to be half a pizza inside, although he's willing to bet it passed its 'eat-by' date while he was away.

He settles for a beer, letting the damp towel rest on his shoulder as he makes his way to the couch, his eyes searching for his phone while he tries to determine whether or not he wants Chinese or Mexican.

He plops down on the worn cushions, his feet automatically lifting to rest on the coffee table as he brings the phone to his ear.

"Szechwan Palace, how may I help you?"

"I need to place an order for delivery," Deeks says, taking a sip of his beer. A light knock at his door causes him to look up. He sets the beer on the table as he stands to answer the door, reciting his order as he goes. "Yeah, I'd like a small beef lo mien, and one order of fried dumplings—"

He opens the door to see Kensi smiling, two brown paper bags in her hand, the logo for Szechwan Palace printed across the front.

"You know what, just cancel that order," he says into the phone, stepping back and holding the door open.

Kensi walks in and sets the bags on the table before turning and walking towards the kitchen. Deeks hangs up the phone and watches as his partner helps herself to a beer. Her hair is still wet and pulled over one shoulder, soaking her t-shirt where it lays.

"I got you dumplings," she says, tossing the bottle cap into the trash. "And your noodles." She's smiling, knowing she got it right, having heard him making the same order as he walked to the door.

"What do I owe you?" he asks, looking for his wallet before he remembers he still hasn't gotten it back. It's probably still being sorted through along with the rest of the evidence gathered from the trailer. He begins to go to his bedroom for his spare cash when Kensi's words stop him.

"How about an explanation?" She eases down on her end of the couch, kicking off her shoes as she tucks her toes beneath the middle cushion. She watches as he turns to her, a crooked smile hiding what he's really feeling.

"An explanation for what?" he asks. He's still standing in the middle of the room, halfway between his bedroom and the couch.

"For why you gave Evan a head start," she clarifies, careful not to make her tone accusing as she lifts the beer to her lips. "And don't say you were returning the favor."

He rubs his fingers through his wet hair, his lower lip making its way between his teeth. Eventually, his shoulders fall in defeat, his eyes closing as he prepares to face the firing squad.

"You know why," he says slowly, walking towards her and reclaiming his spot on the couch.

Kensi nods, the bottle resting on her knee, the condensation leaving a wet ring on the dark denim. "True. Then how about you tell me why you're regretting it now?"

He looks up, confused and a little taken aback. "What?"

Kensi leans forward and sets her beer on the table. She reaches in one of the bags and hands him a pair of chopsticks as she begins to sort out their dinner. "From the moment you walked back into that shop, you've been second guessing your decision to let them go." She takes one of his dumplings before passing him the container, dropping it amongst her sesame chicken as she continues. "So that I can understand what you're feeling now, why don't you tell me _why_ you let them go in the first place?"

Deeks accepts his food, frowning when she steals a dumpling. He sits there, holding the chopsticks in one hand, a warm container of Chinese in the other as he tries to think of a way to avoid this conversation.

"Humor me," she says, her eyes pleading as she balances a piece of chicken with her chopsticks.

Deeks sighs heavily, stabbing at the dumplings as he begins to try and explain. "How much of it did you hear?"

"All of it," she answers honestly, expecting him to do the same. Deeks nods having assumed as much.

"My mom wasn't like Sherrie Miller," he begins, his eyes focused on the edges of the dumplings, on the impressions left in the dough. "She didn't act like I was an inconvenience, but…"

Kensi keeps quiet, not even chewing for fear it'll stop him from finishing.

"I know what it's like to have a parent not care, for them to look at you like you're just that, an inconvenience, and…I mean I know that there was no way DJ was going back with Sherrie or Daniel, but it doesn't mean he'd have been okay. You know?" He looks to Kensi, looking for understanding. She nods slowly, her eyes focused on his as she gives him what he's looking for.

"I just thought, that with everything Evan went through to get that little boy, I thought maybe he'd be better off with his uncle, with someone who loves him." Deeks sets the container of food down on the coffee table, resting his feet on the floor, his elbows on his knees as he covers his face with his hands.

"I agree," Kensi says quietly, setting her own food on the table. "Now that we're clear on _why_ you did it, lets talk about why you're regretting it."

Deeks laughs, though it's void of humor. He looks up, his hands falling to hang between his knees. "I'm a cop, Kensi. I'm pretty sure somewhere in the job description it says I'm supposed to stop people from kidnapping little boys, not be a freaking accomplice."

Kensi frowns as she hears the frustration in Deeks' voice, she can see it in the stiffness of his shoulders. "You know Evan saved our lives," she says, leaning forward to retrieve something from her back pocket, the movement causing a slight wince as it aggravates the sore muscles along her ribcage. "More than once," she adds, "And I don't think you're upset because you believe you didn't do your duty as a cop. I think you're afraid that Evan won't be any better for that little boy."

She holds up a stack of papers, folded tightly and slightly creased from having been in her pocket. She sets it on the table, pushing it towards him as she grabs her food, dropping a piece of chicken in his container before stealing another dumpling.

Deeks looks at her with slanted eyes, one eyebrow cocked in a very Spock-ish kind of way as he watches her devour another one of his dumplings. He picks up the folded papers, opening them slowly.

There's a picture of Evan dressed in his Army uniform, his features stoic for the camera. Deeks reads that his last name is Hudson, that he had been a medic in the Army, and had done three tours within five years.

Deeks peeks over the edge of the papers to find Kensi watching him as she steadily works her chopsticks. Looking back and turning the page, he sees why she had given him Evan's file.

Unlike the others, Evan wasn't dishonorably discharged. He had been injured while on tour, rupturing three discs in his back, along with taking a handful of shrapnel. He had been given the Purple Heart among a few other commendations in his file before being honorably discharged two years ago.

"So Cowboy Evan was on the up and up," Deeks says, dropping the papers on the table and retrieving his dumplings before Kensi can steal anymore. "Except for the whole kidnapper thing."

"Eric's got a bolo out for him," Kensi says, "He's the FBI's concern now, they're taking over the missing person's case."

"And everybody's okay with that?" Deeks asks, finally taking a bite of his dinner. "I mean, normally everyone gets all angsty when another team starts playing in our sandbox."

Kensi rolls her eyes, her toes once again digging beneath the cushion. "I think everyone's ready for this to be over. We got Snow White and five of the seven dwarves. So two of 'em got away, nothing we can do about it."

"Not now anyway," Deeks amends, taking another , much larger sip of his beer. "Do you think Callen knows?"

Kensi stills her chopsticks as she thinks over the last few hours, the way their team leader had questioned them, how he had purposely avoided asking for specifics to how Evan had gotten away. "Probably," she admits, "but if he were going to do anything about it, he'd have already done it."

"You sure about that?" Deeks asks.

Kensi swings her legs around, scooting towards the center of the couch so she's sitting right beside her partner. "Deeks," she says, her voice low even though they're the only two in the apartment. "No matter what happens, whatever the fallout from this, I've got your back." She nudges his shoulder with her own, smiling. "I mean we tunneled out of a bathroom together, _that's _a partnership." Her smile widens as Deeks begins to laugh. "We're in this for the long haul, Mister."

"Can you believe we tunneled out of the bathroom with a spoon?" he says, grabbing his chopsticks and stealing a few pieces of her chicken. "That's almost as cool as that time I saved your ass with the lasers."

"Almost," Kensi agrees, her eyes searching towards the second bag on the table, knowing there's a carton of lo mien inside.

"You know, both of those were my idea," he says, reaching for the second bag before she has a chance.

"But I helped," she points out, reaching into the bag despite his efforts. "Don't even try to take all the credit."

"I'm not, I'm just saying that I was the brain's behind both escape plans." He waits patiently for her to steal a portion of the noodles before accepting what's left. He smiles again, "You think Sam or Callen can top either of those?"

"No, but I bet Hetty can," Kensi answers, matching his smile.

"That doesn't count. That's like trying to compare a padawan to Yoda, that's not fair."

Kensi purses her lips as she accepts the truth in his words. They continue to eat in silence, neither one wanting to turn on the TV, both knowing they'll only see DJ Miller's face.

"He'll be okay," Kensi says after a few minutes. When Deeks turns to look at her, she continues on. "DJ, I mean. He'll be okay. I don't think Evan was the bad guy in this story."

Deeks turn back to his chopsticks, his brow furrowing as he tries to fight with his feelings. "Do you really believe that or are just saying it for my benefit?"

"Deeks, I wouldn't have let you do what you did if I didn't believe it." She waits for him to look back up, for him to make eye contact. "You're my partner, Deeks, and I wouldn't have sat back and let you do something that wasn't in your best interest."

Deeks frowns as he shakes his head confusedly. "You think letting Evan go was in my best interest?"

"No," she tells him, brushing her shoulder against his once more, "I think helping DJ was."

Deeks smiles lightly, one corner of his mouth barely rising as he pushes his shoulder against hers, a silent 'thank you'.

They spend the rest of the evening talking, stealing one another's food as they discuss anything and everything not related to DJ Miller or Evan Hudson.

They'll keep their eyes and ears open for any sign of the two, listening to see whether or not they've been found. They'll play along with the rest of the team, each pretending that Evan had given them the honest slip, that what the record reflects really happened.

Eventually, everyone will stop worrying. DJ Miller's name will still be listed on a missing person's list, Evan Hudson will still be in the FBI's database as a person of interest wanted in connection with his nephew's disappearance.

But one day, Deeks won't look back on the case and feel guilt and worry. Eventually, he'll realize he did the right thing.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

He runs his fingers through his hair. It's the shortest it's been in his entire life, the first time he can remember it not covering his ears. The towel's still wrapped around his shoulders, random tufts of baby curls falling all around him.

He's excited, a little sad, but still excited. Uncle Evan had asked him a long time ago if he wanted to leave with him. He hadn't even had to think about it, he already knew the answer.

He's sitting on the kitchen counter, his legs folded criss-cross apple sauce like the lady at day-care had taught him. The back of his neck itches, but his uncle takes care of that, sweeping away the little itchy hairs as he removes the towel, setting the scissors down before lifting him off the counter.

"Alright, kiddo. Ready to see the damage?" his uncle asks, and the little boy nods, his tongue stuck between his teeth as he smiles excitedly. He's never had a hair cut before. His mom had told him she liked his baby curls, it was one of the few things she told him she liked. That and his eyes, she said he has her eyes.

Uncle Evan turns on the bathroom light and stands him on the counter so he can see. He looks so different. His hair is short, short enough that he can see his ears.

"It's like yours!" he says, looking back and forth between him and his uncle. Uncle Evan smiles as he puts him back on the ground, ruffling his new haircut.

"It's a little longer than mine, kiddo. Now," his uncle says, bending down to look him in his eyes, and that's when he notices that Uncle Evan has his mom's eyes, too. "Do you remember what we talked about on the way here?"

"Yep," he tells him, proud that he remembers.

"Good," his uncle says with a smile. "Now, what's your name?"

"Kyle Dutton," he says, pronouncing each sound carefully, his head bobbing with each syllable.

His uncle nods. "Good, and what's mine?"

"Daddy," he answers, fighting the urge to giggle at the weirdness of it all. Uncle Evan smiles.

"That's what you're gonna call me, but what if someone else asks, what do you tell them?"

He pauses for a moment, his mind going back to the long car ride. "Joseph Dutton!" he yells when he remembers.

Uncle Ev—Daddy smiles again, patting him on the shoulder as he stands. "Good job, now why don't you go watch cartoons okay. I'm gonna make us some lunch."

Evan watches his nephew run away and climb on the oversized sofa. Walking back towards the kitchen, he grabs a broom and dustpan and begins the task of cleaning up the remains of the haircut.

The house is small, nothing too special. It's in the country, so there's not a lot of neighbors. He had paid cash for it, used the blood money he had earned from working with his sister and bought the land and all.

It had taken a long time to get everything ready. The money was only an issue at first, but eventually he had enough, more than enough. The real problem had been making everything legit. He had needed paperwork, and there was no way he was trusting Gadget to get it for him.

Evan empties the dustpan and peeks into living room. SpongeBob Squarepants is on, the little boy watching attentively, his little hands occasionally rising to feel the new shortness of his hair.

Resting the broom in the corner, Evan reaches for the envelope, the one that had cost more than the house and land combined. Birth certificates, social security cards, shot records, a driver's license, high-school diploma—two lives on paper. Everything they'll need to start fresh.

By next year, the news of the missing boy from California will be mostly forgotten. He'll be able to enroll his 'son' in school and he can get a job as a paramedic or something. Who knows, if he has enough money left over he may open up a shop, be his own boss so he'll have time to look after DJ—well, look after _Kyle_.

He sits down at the kitchen table and looks out the window to the large front yard. There's a little white car out front, nothing flashy, nothing that'll call attention. He had swapped cars when they crossed into Arizona, and then again once they hit Texas. He had planned it all from the beginning, each and every step, including where they would stop for gas and where they would eat.

He isn't stupid, he knew the news would spread nationwide. So far, he's kept the little boy from seeing the news, from seeing his face plastered on almost every channel. The drive from California to Kentucky had been long and tiring. There were moments when DJ would cry, when he would ask if his mom was going to meet them. Evan had talked to him the entire time, telling him his mom had gotten in trouble like his dad, that she was going with the detective. DJ had stopped crying then, deciding instead to talk about the detective, telling his uncle how the man had said he could call him Marty, and that he had a dog, and that his partner was really pretty. Evan had simply smiled and steered the conversation towards new names and playing make-believe.

Laughter from the living room brings him out of his reverie, his mind coming back to the present. Closing the envelope once more, Joseph Dutton stands and begins the task of making a sandwich for him and his son.

The End


End file.
